


The Little One with Green Eyes

by ElliahRose



Series: A guide to Parenting and Villainy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ....but not really, ...but not really, ..but not really, Abusive Dursley Family, Adorable Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, But he can't, Child Harry Potter, Death is a little shit, Fate is done with both of them, Gen, Good Malfoy Family, Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Greyback wants to adopt Harry Potter, Harry Potter is an Inferius, Harry is baby and we love him, Horcruxes, I'm not kidding, If it does Voldemort will kill it, Inferius Harry Potter, Let's just say nothing is as it seems, Literally everyone wants to protect Harry, M/M, Magically Powerful Draco Malfoy, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mildly Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mute Harry Potter, No Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Nothing is allowed to hurt Harry Potter, OOC Voldemort - Freeform, OOC everyone really, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Obsessive Voldemort, Order of Phoenix, Possessive Tom Riddle, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Precious Harry Potter, Protective Nagini, Protective Sirius Black, Protective Tom Riddle, Protective Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, So many fucking custody battles, Umbridge is the biggest snake, Voldemort acting as Harry Potter's Father Figure, Voldemort is Harry Potter's Parent, Voldemort is so done with Death's shit, Voldemort won't let him, Voldemort would adopt Harry if he could, You guys this is seriously gonna be such a trip, but not really, cuz there was never a prophecy, get ready, harry potter protection squad, like a lot, maybe kinda sorta, no beta we die like real men, not tomarry, or was there...?, protective death eaters, seriously nothing is as it seems, so he kidnaps him instead, the slowest of burns for all the relationships ngl, who enjoys Voldemort's suffering, you guys this is gonna be a trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 145,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliahRose/pseuds/ElliahRose
Summary: In June of 1980, Voldemort successfully took control of the Magical Ministry. For eleven years, Magical Britain was finally at peace, only a few rebels fighting against the New Ministry. Voldemort stepped out of the limelight after the end of the war, choosing instead to focus on something important: HissonInferius. A four year old Inferius who goes by the name 'Little One' and is completely adored by everyone who meets him. But Little One holds a lot of mysteries. Who is he? How did he die? But most pressing, what is his relationship to the Dark Lord?Everything is fine, of course, until the Order decide to take Little One away from a very protective and possessive Dark Lord.And somehow, that is the least of the Dark Lord's problems. Add one clingy, annoying Death and one all-seeing, secretive Fate and you might just have a story!Follow Voldemort as he struggles through protecting his child, fighting off a very persistent Death, running an entire country, and for Merlin's saKE CAN HEPLEASE BEAT FATE AT ONE BLOODY GAME OF CHESS?????[Very OOC and not a Tomarry/Harrymort. Recently changed summary, same story!]
Relationships: Death & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Harry Potter & Death Eaters, Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter & Sirius Black, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Severus Snape, Voldemort/Death
Series: A guide to Parenting and Villainy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734274
Comments: 914
Kudos: 3305
Collections: Gale Wind, Harry Tom parental, Marauders Pup, Villains Being Good Parents





	1. Prologue: The Mad Lord and Baby Inferius

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Garden and Its Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566791) by [kurofu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/kurofu). 



**_-June 2 1980-_**  
Walden Macnair prided himself on his ability to stomach what others could not. It was an important skill set to have when it came to his job. Both his legal and… less legal one. After all, it was quite difficult to maintain a position that required you to kill a man and be unable to hold your lunch. 

Yes, Walden Macnair had a knack for desensitizing himself to the suffering of others around him. It was quite the talent, if he dared say so himself. He could not think of another who could do what he did. 

And yet… 

And yet… Walden looked out amongst the sea of his friends and fellow Death Eaters, each one staring with trepidation at the scene before them. Their Lord---their powerful, magnificent Lord---sat in a heavy stone throne throwing a powerful _cruciatus_ at the idiot recruit that failed his mission. 

Now, Walden found that he wasn’t upset in the slightest at torture. If anything, he found it quite empowering to be at the top of a fallen and broken man. Yet, in this very moment, watching the recruit writhe on the floor in utter agony, Walden felt nothing but disgust. 

It had started slowly. 

So slowly, in fact, that they didn’t realize it until it was too late. 

Their Lord, the Lord that they pledged their life, loyalty and progeny to, was losing more of his sanity with every passing day. At first Walden thought nothing of the extra torture and raids. He didn’t mind leaving more often to take out his frustration on the deserving Mudbloods who dared steal their magic. 

But soon their Lord strayed from their ideals. Soon he grew more and more reckless. Walden respected his Lord, as he should, but he found himself drifting farther from _respect_ and closer towards _fear_. His Lord had changed from the powerful and seductive man that he had pledged his life to. 

Walden would serve him regardless---though, whether he would stay out of respect for the man he once was or fear for his life, he would soon see---and he would do so happily. Walden tuned back into the meeting in front of him, and this time he took notice of his Lord. 

Yes, his Lord had definitely changed. Walden could remember when he had pledged himself to his Lord just seven years prior, his Lord’s magic was overwhelmingly powerful and demanding. His Lord’s magic---while still demanding and overwhelming---seemed almost stunted. His appearance had changed, as well. His Lord was once beautiful, his attractiveness gaining powerful allies. Yet now his Lord’s appearance was serpentine in nature. And his eyes… The ruby-red glare sent shivers down Walden’s spine. 

His Lord had finished torturing the worthless recruit, and had stood, demanding the attention of his loyal followers. The useless man writhed on the floor in the aftershocks of his agony, and Walden sneered. How unbecoming. 

His Lord stepped over the urchin like he was not there, and Walden found himself bowing with the other Death Eaters. His Lord commanded authority, and Walden found himself shivering as his Lord’s magic swept over him in a tantalizing, seductive show of power.

“My prized followers,” his Lord spoke, the beginnings of a hiss lacing his words. “I come before you today with news of the Light’s most recent attempt to end our reign.” 

Jeers sounded among the Death Eaters, and Walden sneered once more as he looked at the idiotic ones who dared to interrupt his Lord. The Dark Lord seemed to agree, as he swept his gaze throughout the crowd and sent a brief _cruciatus_ at them. When silence filled the halls once more, his Lord continued. 

“They thought me gullible,” his Lord said, his crimson eyes sparkling with rage. “They thought that I, the great Lord Voldemort, would believe a half-baked prophecy from a common street rat?” His Lord laughed, long and cruel. 

Some of the other Death Eaters shared his mirth. Sneers and smirks marred the faces of his fellow Death Eaters, and those in the Inner Circle even dared to laugh. (Although, in Bellatrix’s case, it was more of a mad cackle.) 

His Lord, though, did not seem to mind. He smirked out at the sea of his most faithful and nodded. “Yes,” he said, hissing the last part of the word. “I know better. I can see the plot for what it truly is. And so I am here to inform you, the prophecy should not be followed. It is nothing more than a last-ditch effort to ruin our dream. It will not work.” 

His Lord then smiled, his gaze dipping past the faces of all his Death Eaters. Walden felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat when his Lord met his eyes for a brief second. His Lord grinned cruelly at no one in particular and continued his speech. 

“We are going to take the Ministry today,” his Lord said. Walden felt the air whoosh out of his lungs in excitement, and it took all of his control to stop his glee from being broadcasted on his face. “Today marks the day that Lord Voldemort shall go down in history.” 

Cheers erupted in the halls as Voldemort finished. 

“Today is the day that we will win.” 

* * *

**_-September 5 1987-_ **

“I can’t believe your father brought us here!” Pansy squealed, her black hair tied up in pigtails at both sides of her head. Draco grinned at her, and though he knew that squealing was unbecoming of a lady, no one was here to scold her and Draco himself did not care for the stuffy politics of Pure-Bloods. 

He was only seven and he intended to enjoy his childhood while he could. 

Hence the reason he was now surrounded by his best friends, and preparing to explore the Dark Lord’s castle. He had been given careful instructions of which parts he was allowed to venture and which were forbidden. He then was told to repeat it back to his father to make sure before he, along with Pansy Parkinson, Theo Nott, and Blaise Zabini were sent off to go and explore. 

Draco smiled. “I know!” he said. “Father said we can explore for as long as we want until dinner.” 

“Is the Dark Lord going to be there?” Blaise asked dubiously. Draco smiled encouragingly at his friend. It was well known that the Zabinis had remained neutral in the war, but because they were a Pure-Blood family of such high status, and they had not fought against the Dark Lord, they were not stripped of their titles when the New Ministry was formed. 

“It’s his home, Blaise,” Theo said matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t he be there?” 

“Can’t we go exploring already?” Pansy whined, obviously not interested in the Dark Lord’s presence. His mother would be horrified at Pansy’s behavior, Draco thought with a grin. “Dinner is in two hours! That’s hardly any time at all!” 

“Pansy’s right.” Draco said. “Let’s go already! I want to see just how big the Dark Lord’s castle really is.” 

“I heard that it was endless.” Blaise said as they began to walk towards the nearest stairwell. 

Theo scoffed. “Of course it isn’t,” he said with a derisive shake of his head. “Everyone would get lost all the time.” 

“Not if they could just apparate.” Blaise countered. “Maybe it’s in an endless loop to catch trespassers.” 

“That would be pretty smart,” Pansy cut in. “Maybe I should ask Daddy to do something like that to our manor.” 

“Why would anyone want to break into Parkinson Manor?” Draco asked. “You don’t hold anything valuable there.”

Pansy gasped in offense but the boys only laughed together. Pansy fumed for another moment before she realized that it was a mere tease. She rolled her eyes and gently shoved Draco. “You’re mean.” she pouted. 

“Sorry Pansy,” Draco said with a grin. It was obvious that he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “You know I only jest.” 

The group of friends continued on their exploration of the Dark Lord’s giant castle in comfortable silence, only being broken for small conversations that lasted for a few minutes. They explored the arching architecture and stone halls with wonder. 

There have been countless rumors of the Dark Lord’s fortress, but Draco had dismissed them as useless gossip that women traded for a chance to feel important. Things such as how the castle was magnificent and dignified, while also heavily fortified and mysterious. How the castle was grand and larger than even Hogwarts. 

But Draco was pleasantly surprised to see that all of the rumors proved to be true. 

Each level of stairs they walked up changed the scenery and design drastically. It was as if each level of the castle had been designed by a different person. The giant marble stairs did not move like Hogwarts, but there seemed to be a mild compulsion about them that steered the group in the right direction. 

Draco had incorrectly assumed that the Dark Lord’s palace would be dark and dreary, meant to strike fear into the hearts of all who entered. But instead, the entrance to his castle was warm and inviting---the first level where most business was conducted was bright and open. Countless windows brought in the sunlight and showed off the beautiful gardens that surrounded the castle. 

As the group of friends passed the third level, though, something changed. 

Instead of finding a completely different level as they expected, the stairs branched off into two sides. The left side was clearly the side that was meant for visitors---the compulsion to walk left was too strong to suggest otherwise---and the right side showed a huge arch that led to a hallway just out of their line of sight. 

“Which way should we go?” Blaise asked, eyeing the right stairwell with suspicion. 

“The left---” 

“I want to see what’s up there,” Draco said stubbornly, looking up at the right side with wonder. What could possibly be up there? “We should find out.” 

“Are you crazy?!” Blaise hissed, his eyes wide with fear. “That’s… We’re obviously not supposed to go up there!” 

“Whyever not?” Pansy asked, crossing her arms as she sided with Draco. “We were told where we could go. Draco, did your father mention this as forbidden?” 

Draco frowned. “No,” he said, a gleam growing in his silver eyes. “He didn’t.” 

“When there is a compulsion spell that leads up the left stairs,” Blaise said, looking at the left side pointedly. “That usually means we’re supposed to go left.” 

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Draco asked. Blaise narrowed his eyes. 

“What are you, a Gryiffindor?” he countered. Draco rolled his eyes. 

“There’s no need for petty insults,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We can split up, if you prefer.” 

Blaise seemed even more uncomfortable with the idea than he did of going up the right staircase. He shifted in his spot for a few seconds before he relented with a sigh. “Fine,” he huffed. “But if we get killed, I’m telling my Mother.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Theo said with a laugh, patting Blaise on his back with a soft grin. “Up we go, then?” 

Blaise, while still uneasy, nodded. And so the group quickly ascended the right staircase, blatantly ignoring the mild compulsions telling them to leave and choose the left. 

They were greeted with a grand hallway. It was small, and there were only three doors in the hallway. The walls were lined with portraits of people the group had never seen before, and the marble floors were lined with a red rug. On the left and right side of the walls was a singular door placed in the center of the wall. Draco pulled on the right one and was unsurprised to find it locked. 

“Guys, I really don’t think we should be here,” Blaise said, looking at the portraits wearily. “Can we please go?” 

“Wait, this ones different!” Pansy exclaimed, pointing at the third door. The third door was in the center of the wall that marked the end of the hallway. Draco was surprised to see that Pansy was right, the door _was_ different. 

While the other two doors were in traditional, yet elegant, door frames, the third door was framed by what appeared to be intertwined roots. Small greenery stemmed from the roots and Draco could just barely see buds beginning to bloom pink flowers. 

The only other difference was that the two doors were locked, while the third was slightly open. 

Draco drifted towards the third door, and his friends followed loosely behind him. He peered through the small opening and let out a wonder-filled gasp. He could hear his friends nervously calling him in the background, no doubt anxious to see what had caused Draco to lose his composure, but Draco could not tear his eyes from the scene before him. 

The room---or perhaps a better word for it would be garden---was, in a word, magnificent. 

Draco slowly pushed the door open even wider and stepped inside. He ignored the horrified hisses from his friends behind him in favor of taking in the sight before him. 

At first glance it looked like a grand greenhouse. Trees and shrubbery lined the walls---the walls themselves magicked to look like a bright and peaceful forest with daylight to mimic the cycle outside---and a firm bed of grass replaced the marble floors of the hallways. A small breeze ruffled his hair, and it made Draco wonder where it came from. Speckles of wild flowers sprang up from the floor and Draco could just barely hear the trickling of water nearby. 

On second glance, however, it appeared to be a bedroom made of pure nature. 

A bed made of branches and soft grass and flowers, hung from a giant oak tree in the center of the room. It was held aloft by vines covered in bright blue flowers. A small blanket and a handful of pillows sat on the bed as well as a tiny dog plush. 

He heard familiar gasps behind him, and turned around to look at his surprised friends. They drank in the sight greedily, looking at the peaceful oasis in surprise. 

“What… what is this place?” Pansy asked, spinning in a slow circle as she took it all in. A small smile spread across her face. “It’s like a Fairy Garden!” 

Draco found himself inclined to agree with her. Fair Gardens were small patches of land claimed by the Fairy Court as sacred. They were often magical places filled with lucious plant-life and vegetation. Fairy Gardens were described as the most peaceful, and beautiful places of nature in the world. 

“Why would the Dark Lord have a Fairy Garden in his castle?” Theo asked, bending down to look at the wild flowers. 

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a loud shuffling. The group of friends froze, their eyes wide with horror as they looked around for the source of the noise. It was obvious that they weren’t supposed to be here, and the last thing they wanted was the Dark Lord finding them in this sacred place. 

Just as Draco prepared to run, a head poked out from behind the large oak tree. 

Pansy gasped in surprise, and the face seemed to be just as surprised as they were. “An Inferius!” Pansy cried, stumbling backward. “That’s… that’s an inferius!” 

“He seems a little young…” Theo said dubiously, looking at the undead toddler with doubt. 

It was true enough, Draco supposed. But there was no doubt that the child before them was an inferius. A well-kept inferius, sure, but an inferius nonetheless. There was no rotting flesh, nor putrid smell that usually marked an inferius, but there were small stitches that held a small part of his neck together, and a tell-tale feeling of death that declared the boy as undead. 

“I’ve never seen an Inferius so… alive before,” Blaise said with surprise. The Inferius in question was standing and eyeing them curiously with a spark of intelligence that was not often found in the Inferi. His eyes glazed bright emerald, and seemed to hold an age-old weariness that contrasted with his toddler body. 

The Inferius looked no older than four, and he seemed to be well cared for. For an Inferius to be walking around with no bits of rotting flesh, and enough coherence to stop from attacking the first person it saw meant that he was made properly and by a powerful wizard. 

But it was obvious that he was well-kept (the powerful magic aside.) due to the clothes he wore. They were not dirty or tattered, but rather well tailored and expensive. It was obvious that someone here really cared about this Inferius. 

The reason as to why… 

“Do you think it’s trained to kill people?” Pansy asked in a horrified whisper. Draco nodded. It was the only conclusion that made sense. The Inferius moved towards them then, clearly deeming them a threat. Pansy shrieked before she covered her mouth with her hand. “We’re going to die!” she wailed. 

Draco watched with horror as the Inferius stopped in front of Pansy’s frozen body and reached into a bag that he hadn’t noticed before. It was a small drawstring bag that hung from his shoulder. The bag was saturated with the Dark Lord’s magic. This was the Dark Lord’s Inferius, Draco thought miserably. Surely, they were going to be killed. 

“Please… please don’t kill us…” Blaise whispered softly, his wide eyes never leaving the toddler inferius. 

The Inferius pulled his hand out of the bag and Draco flinched, expecting some kind of horrible weapon, only to be surprised as the Inferius held out a bouquet of Lavender and Daisy flowers to Pansy. 

Pansy stared at it in surprise for a second before her trembling fingers grasped it. 

The Inferius smiled brightly and giggled silently. Draco’s mouth dropped further as the Inferius reached into his bag once more and pulled out a handful of carnations and handed them to Draco, Theo and Blaise respectively. 

“Is he… Is he trying to be our friend?” Theo asked incredulously. 

“Indeed.” a cold voice drawled from behind them. The group whirled around in horror, and Draco felt his blood freeze when he saw the Dark Lord looking at them with a raised eyebrow. Instantly, the group dropped to the floor in a deep bow. The Dark Lord continued. “Little One is quite the friendly one. It’s been a while since he’s made any friends.” 

“...My Lord?” Draco asked when the Dark Lord fell silent. He shifted uneasily. Were they in trouble? 

“Come now,” the Dark Lord said firmly, gesturing for them to leave the room. The group jumped up and hurried out of the room, and Draco sent one last questioning look at the Inferius behind him. “I don’t want you hounding Little One any further.” 

“Little One?” Blaise asked, looking at the Dark Lord in confusion. 

“Return to your parents now,” the Dark Lord commanded. “And don’t come snooping up here again. I won’t have you bothering my precious.” 

Draco wanted to ask more, but he knew better than to argue with the Dark Lord. The group quickly walked down the hall to the stairs, and Draco sent one final glance back towards the room to see the Dark Lord bend down to embrace the Inferius, before he descended down the stairs. 

It was only much later, after the dinner party had finished and Draco and his family had returned to Malfoy Manor, did Draco give the strange Inferius any thought. It was obvious that the Inferius belonged to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord held some sort of sentimentality to it. 

Draco wondered who it could have possibly been. The Inferius was a mere toddler, and no discernable features that Draco could recognize. Never, in his entire life, had Draco heard of the Dark Lord having a close companion. 

And yet… 

Beside him, sitting in a decorative crystal vase, sat a single red Carnation, glinting in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please, leave any comments you have in the reviews below! It's all appreciated!


	2. 1: Daisies and Dark Lords

**_-August 27 1991-_**  
“Why is this still a problem?” 

Narcissa winces at the enraged hiss of her Lord. She stands next to her husband in the meeting hall of her Lord’s castle, and she sends a sympathetic glance at the poor sod delivering his report. Corban Yaxley is clearly terrified, his eyebrows drawn together as he looks at the Dark Lord in fear. 

“W-We are still searching for them, Milord,” he stutters out, his eyes flitting between the ground and their Lord’s face as he searches for a way to get himself out of the torture that is bound to follow. “But their forces continue to evade.” 

“Continue to evade, you say?” the Dark Lord says, and his glare intensifies. “Tell me, Yaxley, how they continue to evade you? They are nothing more than street rats, and you are telling me that you cannot find them?” 

Yaxley trembled where he stood. “Y-Yes My Lord.” 

Narcissa sighed minutely as the Dark Lord raged. The tension in the room spiked the longer the Dark Lord seethed silently, paralyzing Yaxley with his death glare. The only noise that could be heard was Yaxley’s terrified breathing. 

It had started off as a normal report day. The Dark Lord had summoned the heads of each department in the New Ministry and demanded they give him the reports for the month. All had been going well since the Lord’s ascension to power. 

The war had been won eleven years ago, with the Dark Lord gaining the Ministry. It took a few years before the people settled under the new influence of power, but the Dark Lord had changed the laws to be more fitting for everyone involved. 

About five years ago or so, the Dark Lord changed. Where he was once an insane, powerful dictator, the Lord became more of a leader. His laws, more fair and fitting for the society that they lived in. Narcissa had barely concealed her surprise when her beloved husband came home one afternoon to tell her that Muggleborns were still allowed to attend Hogwarts. 

Narcissa had expected them to be thrust from their society entirely, or stripped to second-class. But instead, their Lord made it a law that they be introduced into their society as children so that they might learn their traditions---their muggle heritage must be left behind. Muggle parents should be fully integrated into the Wizarding World to live as squibs and several Muggleborn orphanages began to pop up. 

But Narcissa would have to concede that those laws helped sway what little resistance was left to their side. The Dark Lord’s previous regime of Pure-Blood Supremacy shifted to focus on magic instead. All magic should be free---and anyone who could wield it was welcomed. 

Their Ministry was fully successful and there had only been one uprising since the Dark Lord took power, and it had been easily quelled. 

But the true surprise to Narcissa---more so than the equal rights movement for Muggleborns and Werewolves---was the headmaster of Hogwarts. For some reason, Albus Dumbledore remained the headmaster. 

It was no secret that Dumbledore was head of the Order of Phoenix---the leading rebellion group against the Dark Lord and the New Ministry. Her Lord had signed a peace treaty with the old wizard at the end of the war, and Dumbldore’s continued employment at the most prestigious school of Wizardry was a part of that. 

Narcissa had honestly expected the Dark Lord to kill Dumbledore, as everyone knew how much the former despised him. And yet, the old man remained alive and well, and still in the powerful position as always. 

However, the Order of Phoenix continued to fight against the Dark Lord. Their efforts, more subtle now that the masses had settled into the Dark Lord’s power, continued to invoke the most terrifying rages of her Lord. 

And because her Lord could not arrest Albus Dumbledore (The reason being the new laws in the New Ministry that focused on double jeopardy and the justice system prevented the prosecution of a previously reformed and contracted rebel. Another clause of the peace treaty signed by the two powerful wizards, in order to ensure the security of Magical Britain.) the Dark Lord was attempting to find another way to end the rebels. 

_Trying_ , yet not _succeeding_ \---as Yaxley had the misfortune of pointing out. 

“I want this dealt with!” the Dark Lord seethed, finally breaking the tense silence. 

“Of course, My Lord,” Yaxley said, trying to sound confident. Narcissa narrowed her eyes at his trembling hands. “It shall be done.” 

“Shall it?” the Dark Lord asked, staring at Yaxley with an unimpressed expression. “I’ve been expecting this to be solved for several months now.” 

Narcissa frowned as Yaxley’s trembling increased. Yes, the Order of Phoenix had picked back up again after several years of silence. No one had been able to figure out why they decided to show their faces now, after so many years of nothing. But whatever the reason, the Dark Lord wanted them dealt with. 

“M-My Lord I---” 

“You told me that it would be fixed at the last meeting as well, did you not?” the Dark Lord asked, standing up from his stone throne. Nagini hissed at the movement and Narcissa flinched as the Dark Lord hissed back. Her Lord’s familiar merely coiled around herself as she tried to find a comfortable position without the Dark Lord to perch upon. 

Yaxley winced and attempted to step back, only to freeze at the Dark Lord’s enraged hiss. “Y-Yes My Lord… I did…” 

“Then tell me why it has yet to be solved!” the Dark Lord hissed. 

“I.. I.. My Lord I…” 

Narcissa winced at the pathetic display in front of her. Yaxley was bound to undergo horrific torture any moment now. However, just as the Dark Lord raised his wand to fire, the grand doors to the meeting hall were pushed open. 

For a moment, horror ran through Narcissa’s veins, as she whipped her head to the side to see what suicidal idiot had dared interrupt the Dark Lord’s meeting, only to sag slightly in relief. 

Little One had arrived. 

The toddler Inferius walked swiftly to the stone throne where the Dark Lord stood and crawled up into the chair. Nagini hissed for a moment---in delight, Narcissa was sure---and positioned herself so that she could wrap around the child. 

Little One looked up at the Dark Lord, emerald eyes full of wonder and child-like innocence. Instantly, the Dark Lord’s rage seemed to melt away. He glanced at Little One for a quick second, and Narcissa was in the perfect position to see the fondness in the Dark Lord’s gaze, before he turned back to face Yaxley. 

The terrified man---much less, now that Little One was here---was still standing in a rigid position as he waited for the Dark Lord to say something. 

“I want this issue fixed. Now.” the Dark Lord said with finality. And that was that. Yaxley gave a curt nod before he bowed, and then returned to his seat in the semi-circle of chairs that surrounded the Dark Lord’s throne. 

Before Little One, the Dark Lord would have tortured Yaxley for his failure, and then proceed to hand out punishments for anyone else who dared displease him until the meeting ended and everyone returned home in some form of agonizing pain. Now, however, the Dark Lord merely fixed Yaxley with a glare before he adjusted the snake and Inferius on his throne so that they might both sit comfortably on his lap. 

The meeting continued, each department head standing up and giving their presentations to their attentive Lord. The Dark Lord watched with intense attention, his hand coming to pet Little One’s shaggy, black hair absently as each head spoke. 

Little One sat there, content to curl up in the Dark Lord’s protective hold while the meeting commenced. Nagini was coiled around the toddler, her head resting on the Dark Lord’s knee and Little One pet her scales gently, almost in a soothing gesture as he slowly fell asleep. 

It was until the meeting ended that the Dark Lord roused the child Inferius. After most of the heads were dismissed, the Dark Lord gently woke Little One, who opened his eyes and smiled brightly at the Dark Lord. 

The Dark Lord hissed something in parseltongue at the Inferius---how the Inferius understood it was a mystery, yet Narcissa had some theories---and Little One nodded. Little One then lightly embraced Nagini’s head before he reached into his drawstring bag that Narcissa had never once seen him without, and pulled out a red Spider Lily. The Dark Lord took the flower, a fond grin creeping onto his face, and patted Little One gently on his head before sending him off. 

Narcissa smiled as Little One walked over to her. Narcissa bent down to smile at the child, and was rewarded with a pair of Daisies. Narcissa took the flowers, used to the greeting. Little One gave flowers to everyone he met with as a sign of friendship and goodwill. Narcissa found it adorable endearing. 

“Hello, Little One,” she cooed. “Are you here to spend time with me?” 

Little One shook his head gently, showcasing the tiny stitches that ran up the length of Little One’s spine to the top of his nape before curling around slightly to the left and tapering off just by his ear. Little One only smiled at her again before he pulled out a single orange Tulip and handed it to her. 

Narcissa smiled. “Would you like me to tell my husband you said hello?” she asked, knowing that Little One only gave Tulips to Lucius. Her husband had left with the Lestranges---off to talk about some business Narcissa had no interest in. Little One nodded happily. “I’ll be sure to give him your love, darling.” 

If Inferius could blush, Narcissa was sure Little One would be doing so. Little One gave her one last bashful smile before he turned around and ran off. Narcissa smiled fondly at the inferius before she walked off to find her husband. 

Lucius would be glad to have yet another Tulip to add to his collection. 

* * *

The Death Eaters parted as Little One ran by them, only stopping to hand them their respective flowers and smile. It was clear to them that the Dark Lord’s Inferius was on a mission of some kind, and they wouldn’t stand in his way. 

It was only when Little One ran into a group of eleven-year-olds standing by the common room, did Little One slow down. 

Draco saw him first. 

“Little One!” he called, smiling slightly as the baby Inferius beamed at him. Theo and Blaise ceased their conversation about the better Quidditch team, choosing instead to grin at the approaching child. 

“Hey Little One,” Pansy smiled, leaning down to accept the handful of Lavenders that Little One offered her. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Little One only shrugged at her. Pansy, used to Little One’s silence, merely continued. “I’m going to miss you when I’m gone.” 

Little One frowned at that, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Draco winced slightly at the move, and carefully tilted Little One’s head back. The last time Little One had done that, he ripped his stitches. 

(The Dark Lord refused to allow Little One out of his sight for weeks after the incident.) 

Little One handed Draco a red Carnation before pointing at him, a pout resting on his face. Draco took the Carnation and placed it in the lapel of his robe before he sighed and crouched down so that he could be eye-level with the Inferius. 

“Pansy, Theo, Blaise and I are going to Hogwarts this year,” he said, ruffling Little One’s hair with a fond smile. “That means we won’t be around very often anymore.” 

Little One pouted, and let out a silent huff. Blaise chuckled, drawing the Inferius’ attention. He quickly handed Blaise a handful of Geraniums and pointed at him, an eyebrow raised in an obvious question. 

Blaise let out a full on laugh and nodded. “Yes, Little One, even me.” he said. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure that we’ll see you over the hols.” 

Little One frowned but nodded, a small sad expression resting on his face. Draco felt the tug on his heart strings and instantly drew the Inferius in for a hug. It was unlike the Malfoy heir to let down his masks in such a place, but something about Little One just demanded vulnerability. 

Everyone, and Draco meant everyone, even his crazy Aunt Bella, loved Little One. The Inner Circle fawned over the toddler almost as much as the Dark Lord. Little One charmed everyone he met with his powerful cuteness. It was going to be weird, Draco supposed, to go more than a week without receiving a red Carnation. 

“What about me?” Theo asked with mock offense. “Don’t I get a flower, Little One?” 

Little One quickly jumped out of Draco’s arms then, racing over to a smiling Theo so that he could give him a single Cone Flower with an apologetic smile. Theo took it gratefully and placed it behind his ear. He then framed his face with his hands and looked down at Little One mischievously. 

“What do you think, Little One, am I beautiful?” he asked. Little One giggled silently at Theo’s antics before nodding. Theo smiled and patted Little One on the shoulder. “You’re too kind,” he said. “I really am going to miss you.” 

All too soon, it was time for them to leave. Draco waved one last time at Little One before he disappeared into the floo, Pansy, Blaise and Theo following shortly after. 

Little One stood in the common room for a few seconds longer before he wandered off to the Dark Lord’s office. Voldemort raised an eyebrow when his door opened, only to smile at Little One. 

Little One walked in, waving happily at Voldemort, and walked quickly to his favorite armchair. Voldemort smiled fondly at the sight of Little One curling up beside Nagini by the fire. Voldemort spared one last glance at his most precious, before he occupied himself with the dreadful paperwork that plagued him. 

It would be another two hours before Voldemort would look up again, and he would be greeted with the sight of Nagini coiled around Little One in a protective manner, while Little One slumbered peacefully in her hold.


	3. 2: Nightmares and Phoenixes

Little One loved his snake-momma. 

Little One had never had a snake-momma before. Little One had never had a _regular_ momma before. Snake-momma always made sure that Little One was happy and warm. Little One knew that he was safe with snake-momma. She would curl up next to him as Little One fell asleep in his bed and keep watch. 

Little One had been nervous when he first met snake-momma, of course. Snake-momma was a very big snake, after all. But his worry had been misplaced. Snake-momma was kind and gentle with him, and she always whispered sweet words in his ears whenever Little One was scared. Without snake-momma, Little One was sure that he’d never get to sleep. 

But sometimes… Sometimes snake-momma’s kind whispers weren’t enough to keep the bad dreams away. Sometimes holding his Padfoot close to his chest wouldn’t be able to shake his fear either. Little One would tremble in his natural bed, snake-momma hissing words of comfort, and his most precious grimm plushie, and try not to cry. 

Little One wanted to be brave. 

But sometimes Little One couldn’t. Sometimes, nothing could stop the icy cold fear from grabbing hold and making his chest feel all weird and tight. Little One would then hold his Padfoot _and_ his snake-momma and cry. 

Whenever that happened, his Papa would find him. 

The first time it happened, Little One was so embarrassed. He wanted to be big and brave. He didn’t want his Papa to be ashamed of him. But his Papa had only smiled at him gently, in a way that no one had ever smiled at him before, and picked Little One up and held him close. His Papa rocked him and whispered soft words of encouragement in Little One’s ears until he fell asleep, the comforting thrum of his magic making Little One feel safe and loved. 

The longer Little One lived with his Papa, the less the bad dreams would come. With his Papa, Little One had things he’d never dreamed he could have before. Little One had always liked gardens---they were pretty and Little One was always safe when he was outside in the garden. Now, Little One slept in a beautiful garden that was warm, and beautiful and all his. 

Little One even made new friends! It had been a long time since anyone had come to see Little One. Well, anyone that wasn’t his Papa or his snake-momma. They had come whispering things to each other, and they looked at Little One with fear. Little One didn’t want his new friends to be afraid of him, though, so he gave them all flowers. That meant they were friends now. 

~~And friends couldn’t hurt each other.~~

But even with all of the good and happiness Little One felt, sometimes the bad dreams would sneak up on him and scare him really bad. 

Like they did tonight. 

Little One curled in on himself, his eyes staring up at the canopy of stars that covered him---Papa had done it for him, and even after all this time, it never ceased to amaze him---and fought back terrified sobs. He held his Padfoot close to him, the well-worn plushie held against his face for comfort. 

His snake-momma wasn’t here. 

Little One didn’t know where she was, but he figured that she was out eating. She had asked him if Little One would be okay without her, and Little One had nodded. Little One was a big boy, and he didn’t need snake-momma to sleep with him. 

But now, Little One really wished she was there to make him feel better. Snake-momma would’ve made him feel safe. She would have coiled around him and promised to stand guard so that Little One could go back to sleep. 

But snake-momma wasn’t here, and the dark shadows seemed to hold danger. Little One whimpered as the leaves of his oak tree rustled against the wind. He jumped when he heard the waterfall trickle against the shiny stones Papa had made for him in the background. 

Suddenly, his big, safe garden didn’t feel so safe anymore. 

He gasped when a cloud overshadowed the bright moon, shrouding the room in darkness. Suddenly, he wasn’t in his big, safe garden. Suddenly… he was back _there_. 

_“Freak!”_

_“You’re useless!”_

_“Look what you’ve done!”_

_“You’re dead now boy! You hear? I’m gonna kill you!”_

_“Get back in your cupboard! You worthless burden!”_

Little One let out a soft sob, clutching his Padfoot even closer. Little One felt vulnerable in his big, scary garden. He didn’t want to stay in his bed swing, where anything could come out of nowhere and grab him. He was in danger! 

Suddenly, Little One jumped off his bed, tumbling to the ground as he scrambled to get out of his room. He was trembling, now. He clutched his precious plushie to his chest as he bolted out of his room. His feet thudded as they fell against the lush carpet, and he desperately ran for the door on the left. 

The door was always locked, but the second Little One touched it, it opened. Little One stopped at the threshold, suddenly nervous. Would… Would Papa send him away? 

“Little One?” 

Before Little One even had the chance to hesitate, his Papa was walking towards him, scooping him up in a tight hug. Little One let out another sob and buried his face in his Papa’s shoulder. His Papa’s arms tighten around him, and Little One wants to cry at the feeling of _safe_ and _protected_ surrounding him. 

It took Little One a few seconds to realize that his Papa was speaking to him. 

“There, there, dear heart,” he whispered, one hand coming to rub his back soothingly. “You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” 

Little One took comfort in the warmth that his Papa provided. He slowly felt himself drifting off to sleep, because he knew that his Papa would always protect him. As if he could read his thoughts, his Papa pressed a gentle kiss to his temple and whispered soothingly. 

“Nothing will ever hurt you. Not while I’m here.” 

* * *

Severus Snape was a proud man. 

He knew that his pride had ruined him before, several times over, in fact. But Severus refused to admit his wrong (There’s that pride, again.) and so, Severus found himself sitting in a meeting with the very people his Lord had ordered to be captured, regretting his every life’s decision. 

He supposed that his mistakes could be traced back to one, singular mistake. One that happened all those years ago, back when he was still a student at Hogwarts. Back when he was young, and naive, and the prospect of a total Wizarding War in Magical Britain seemed like nothing but a bad dream. 

Back when he burned the only bridge he had, and was forced to stand back as the fire roared. 

Perhaps, then, if he had not done what he did, Lily would still be alive. Perhaps if he had not joined the Dark Lord, he would have still remained her dearest friend. (Perhaps, Severus had begrudgingly conceded after many sleepless nights agonizing over ‘ _What Ifs_ ’, he would have even gotten over his grudge against Potter. For her sake.) Perhaps, then, he would have been there to protect her. 

He hadn’t known that there would be a raid that day. 

His Lord had not deigned to tell him, had not even considered that Severus would like to participate in a Death Eater raid on Diagon Alley. Perhaps if he had, Severus would have had the chance to warn her not to go. Perhaps then, Lily would not have been killed in the crossfire. Perhaps then her husband would not have gotten killed as he attempted to revive his fallen wife. 

But alas, hindsight was never blind. 

He had often found himself wondering, whenever time seemed to move too slow and Severus could not find a way to keep his mind off his demons, about what happened to their son. 

Severus knew that Lily had borne a child. Had known that she was a mother. He remembered Black muttering about in his grief, all those years ago, demanding that her child, Harry, be given to him. But in all the years that Severus had been a part of the Order of Phoenix, he had never once seen the rumored child. The perfect mix of James Potter and Lily Evans. Had never heard the patter of tiny feet against the floor, not the laughter of a child. 

But then the pain would be too great, and Severus found that he could not spare a thought for the boy. In his grief---and his anger at the Dark Lord---Severus had turned to the only man he could think of. 

Albus bloody Dumbledore. 

Now, his continued position as the Order’s spy grew tiresome. The war had ended nearly eleven years ago. The Dark Lord continued to rule perfectly, not entirely just, but closer than Magical Britain had seen in a very long time. There were no corrupt Ministers. No second agendas forcing subjugation. The justice system was completely rebuilt, ensuring that buy-outs and corruption was impossible. Dare he say it, the Dark Lord had succeeded in making a better nation. 

Yet here he sat, surrounded by wanted criminals, childhood bullies, and Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore talking of overthrowing the surprising peace that had lasted for nearly a decade. 

(Damn his pride.)

“Have any more news, Snivellus?” Black sneered, forcing Severus to pay attention, once again, to the bumbling idiots he was surrounded by. 

Severus glared at Black, refusing to dignify his smear with a response. Dumbledore merely chuckled and held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, now,” he said gently. “Remember Sirius, Severus has put himself in a very precarious situation so that Voldemort might fall.” (Several people flinched, including himself.) 

“Yeah? And how much help has he been?” Black countered. Severus turned up his nose at the mongrel. 

“Do you think you can do a better job, _mutt_?” he snapped. Black growled at him like the dog he was. Severus scoffed. How plebeian. 

“Now, boys,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “We must focus. Severus, my boy, have you found any more clues as to what Voldemort’s weakness may be?” 

Severus frowned. There was only one weakness that the Dark Lord had. Severus shifted uncomfortably at the thought of giving up Little One. The green-eyes Inferius---eyes so much like Lily it made him want to cry---who was so gentle and sweet. It would be cruel to bring Little One into this. 

He thinks of the way the child would smile brightly at everyone he came across. Offering personalized flowers to each person, as though he was saying their name. Severus frowned as he thought about the permanent vase he had sitting on his table in Spinner's End, almost constantly holding Lilies gifted to him from the boy. He thought about the way his Lord was insane during the war---he shivered as he remembered the near constant _cruciatus_. Everything changed when Little One arrived. 

Yes, Little One grounded his Lord. Without him, Severus was sure he’d fall back into his old habits. 

Severus steeled himself, allowing his cold mask to fall into its usual place. 

“The Dark Lord has no weakness.” he said firmly. 

Yes, Little One _must_ be protected. 

The safety of Magical Britain depended on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I know I've been doing a lot of updates, but I wouldn't get too excited. Currently this is just a side project I'm working on as I finish up Home Isn't Just a Place. But still, I'll do my best to give you consistent updates! Please, leave a kudos and a review, they really make me happy! :)))) 
> 
> (Also, if you have a request or are interested in seeing a certain scene play out with Little One and Voldemort, please comment it down below! I can't promise that they'll all be done, and NO INCEST!! [This is _not_ a Tomarry series, thank you. Platonic love only.] but I will do my best to write it out for you!)


	4. 3: Nanny 'Cissa

**_-August 30 1991-_**  
“Where are you off to, my love?” Lucius asked, giving her a soft kiss in greeting. He had been sitting at the breakfast table looking over paperwork when Narcissa walked in, dressed to impress and preparing to floo away. 

“The Dark Lord is off to attend some business today,” she responded. Lucius nodded, clearly aware that he was. Narcissa nodded at him. It wasn’t unusual for Lucius to be called out on a raid. Though the war was long over, the battles still continued. “He has kindly asked me to watch over Little One while he is away.” 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Kindly?” 

“Indeed,” Narcissa replied coolly. “It is not the first time that I have watched over the little angel. I do not mind in the slightest.” 

“Will I be receiving a tulip today?” Lucius deadpanned, returning his disinterested gaze to the stack of papers resting on the table. Narcissa fought back a smirk. As much as he may deny it, she knew that Lucius enjoyed Little One’s strange tendencies just as much as everyone else did. 

“I’ll be sure to tell him you say hello.” Narcissa said with a fond smile. Lucius merely snorted elegantly and returned his attention to the paperwork. “I will see you later tonight, husband.” 

Lucius smiled at her. “Have fun, my love.” 

Narcissa nodded before she grabbed the floo powder from her mantle. “Dark Lord’s Castle.” she said, stepping into the green fire with grace. She stepped out into the greeting hall of her Lord’s castle and was greeted with the sight of the Dark Lord barking orders to his Death Eaters, a familiar Inferius hitched on his hip. Narcissa fought to keep a fond smile off her face at the sight. 

When the Dark Lord dismissed his followers, he turned to greet her with a cool stare. Narcissa bowed deeply, a respectful, “My Lord.” escaping her lips. The Dark Lord tipped his head slightly and Narcissa stood. Narcissa watched as Little One squirmed in the Dark Lord’s arms. He looked at Little One with eyes filled with fondness. He hissed something is parseltongue at the child (Narcissa bit back a flinch at the language) and set the boy onto the ground. Little One grinned up at the Dark Lord before he ran over to Narcissa, pulling out a daisy to hand to her when he reached her outstretched arms. 

“Hello Little One,” Narcissa said, bending her head so Little One could stick the daisy behind her ear. “It’s nice to see you. Lucius misses you, you know.” 

Little One tilted his head, reminding Narcissa of a confused puppy, before his _Avada_ eyes lit up in realization. As Narcissa shifted her weight so that she could carry Little One on her hip, Little One reached into his bag to pull out another tulip. Narcissa grinned, and promised to give it to Lucius. 

“I will return by nightfall.” a cold voice called, forcing Narcissa to tear her eyes from the adorable toddler hitched around her waist. The Dark Lord was staring at Narcissa with an odd look on his face---one Narcissa dared not decipher. She merely nodded, instead, choosing to boy one last time. Little One waved at the Dark Lord, a wide smile decorating his face. The Dark Lord’s cold, crimson eyes softened for a second as they looked at the Inferius. Just as quickly, the emotion vanished, and the cool indifferent mask returned. His gaze snapped back to Narcissa’s and he bit out, “I don’t think I need to remind you what’s at stake, should you fail me.” 

Narcissa held her head high. “No, My Lord.” she said firmly. “I will take care of Little One. I swear it.” 

The Dark Lord eyed her for another second before he nodded curtly. “Very well.” he then looked back at Little One and hissed in parseltongue again, before he swiftly exited the hall. 

Narcissa waits a few more seconds before she returns her attention to the Inferius in her arms. She smiles at him. “What do you say we go play in the garden?” she asks. The Inferius grins brightly and nods. 

Narcissa chuckles fondly before she quickly walks out of the Dark Lord’s entrance hall. The Dark Lord’s castle is very large, and Narcissa has really only been on the first level---the one where most Death Eater business was conducted---but even so, the grandeur never ceased to amaze. The Dark Lord’s first level made Malfoy Manor look like a cottage. 

Narcissa walked swiftly through the ornate halls, passing stiff greetings at the people she passed, before she finally made it to the large gardens outside the left wing. Narcissa squinted against the bright sun for a brief second until her eyes adjusted. She instinctively tightened her grip on Little One as the toddler began to squirm out of her hold. Sensing his desire to stand on his own, Narcissa quickly set the Inferius on the ground. 

Narcissa watched as Little One excitedly ran around the impressive gardens. Narcissa resigned herself to staying outside with a rambunctious toddler for the rest of the day, and set her sights on finding a bench she could sit on. 

Narcissa watched the child peer at the flowers with awe and happiness, and frown slowly worked its way onto her face. 

He really was _quite_ the strange one. 

No one actually knew where Little One had come from. No one knew who he was when he was alive, or the relationship he had with her Lord. Based on the way the Lord acted around Little One, Narcissa wouldn’t be surprised if Little One was the Dark Lord’s son. His reactions to the Inferius… well they were almost _paternal_. 

“If a father was a homicidal Dark Lord.” Narcissa mused to herself. 

But the truth of the matter was simple. No matter the reason, the Dark Lord---dare she say it---actually _loved_ Little One. Narcissa didn’t think people like the Dark Lord even felt love. And yet… 

Although, Narcissa wasn’t sure if it was so much love, as it was a possessive feeling in nature. Narcissa wasn’t blind, and neither were the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord would most likely do anything for Little One. If Little One told the Dark Lord to, Narcissa was sure he’d give Little One the moon!

Another strange mystery about the Inferius---speaking. Most Inferius were made by fools who dappled in necromancy. They weren’t aware of the power necessary to create a successful, fully functional Inferius. The ritual required strong magic, but also the strong will to preserve a life. A soul. The necromancers believed they could just create an army of undead without forming the necessary attachments to each soul. In order for an Inferius to be made properly, the caster needed to _want_ the Inferius to live. Not for power, but for sentimentality. For the pure purpose of never losing that soul. 

Little One was created perfectly. It was obvious because, if one didn’t look properly or looked from a distance, one wouldn’t be able to tell he was even dead! There was no rotting flesh, no missing appendages. Little One’s skin was fair and healthy---with the exception of the stitches going up his neck. (Narcissa knew that those stitches were most likely holding Little One together. No doubt, Little One had received some sort of injury on his neck, and that was how he died.) Little One’s head was full of hair, no missing patches and no sunken skull. He did not give off the smell of rotten flesh, and most importantly: Little One did not attack the living. 

If an Inferius was made incorrectly, they would be the opposite of Little One. That was where the horror stories of the Inferius came from. But whoever made Little One, they did it perfectly. 

(Narcissa had a strong suspicion as to what powerful, and sentimental wizard brought Little One back to life.)

However, a correctly made Inferius also retained its intelligence from when it was alive. Little One appeared to be about four, so he should, theoretically, be able to speak. Narcissa knew that Little One could speak, but he never had. 

Well, not around anyone that wasn’t the Dark Lord. And never in english. Once, almost four years ago, Narcissa had been a part of the lucky four (The others being Barty, Lucius and Snape) to hear Little One speak. He had been sitting with Nagini, curled up by the fire, when the Dark Lord hissed at him. To the amazement of the only other four people in the room, Little One opened his mouth and _hissed back at him_. That was how Narcissa knew that the Dark Lord was speaking to Little One every time he hissed. Before that, Narcissa had assumed that the Dark Lord was just talking to himself. 

Narcissa wondered, though, why Little One never spoke English. She knew he understood it just fine, yet never had he spoken it. 

Just one of the many mysteries of the great enigma, Little One. 

Narcissa had once wondered, back before she truly knew Little One, if he was the one controlling the Dark Lord. It was her first time meeting an Inferius, after all, and they were notoriously dark, and dangerous creatures. 

But then she saw the way Little One had cried when Dolohov stepped on a spider Little One had befriended---and the way the Dark Lord held him under the _cruciatus_ for five extra minutes because of it---and she thought better of it. 

Little One was, without a doubt, the most gentle creature she had ever encountered in her entire life. He befriended every living creature, giving personalized flowers to each person he met as a sign of friendship and greeting, and could charm a man out of murder with his adorable pout. 

It was no wonder the Dark Lord was so protective of the child. He was quite effective at ending wars. 

She smiled as Little One ran up to her, an excited grin on his face as he showed her the butterfly that had perched on his arm. Narcissa patted his head fondly, smiling a little wider at the silent giggle that left his lips as he watched the butterfly fly away. 

_Yes_ , Narcissa thought, watching the child chase after the butterfly with a dopey grin on his face. _Little One is a wonder. How did such a docile creature meet the Big Bad Dark Lord?_

* * *

Voldemort smirked at the empty house on Privet Drive, a deadly glint in his crimson eyes.

Had it really been so long, already?


	5. 4: A Grieved Birthday Party

**_-July 31 1991-_**  
Sirius sat silently, his dark eyes never leaving the crackling fire. He’d been sitting on the age-old couch tensely for most of the night, only leaving it twice in the span of four hours so that he could refill his glass with the strongest whiskey he owned. He raised a trembling hand, ignoring the clattering of the ice against the glass, and took another sip of the burning liquid, his gaze remaining on the fire burning in the dusty fireplace. 

“Sirius.” 

Sirius didn’t look up at the reproachful call of his name. He did not tear his eyes from the fire, instead choosing to take another drag of the whiskey, wishing the drink would soothe his pain and burn away the memories. 

“Sirius, look at me.” 

Sirius didn’t. He continued to stare lethargically, not fully there, and wallow in his misery. 

“Sirius _bloody_ Black, you look at me this instant!” 

Sirius sighed, regretfully turning his gaze from the crackling fire to the angry man standing behind him. His amber eyes shone with disappointment, his beautiful face set in a deep scowl. His hands rested on his hips, and he was staring down at Sirius with anger and… Sirius took another long sip of his whiskey at the sight of _pity_ in his lover’s eyes. 

“Sirius, give me that!” Remus snapped, stepping forward to wrestle the glass out of Sirius’s unyielding grip. “What are you doing?! It’s nearly one in the morning! How long has…” he trailed off, taking Sirius’s disheveled state. He frowned, his eyebrows pinching together as he took a deep breath. “Bloody hell Siri, how much did you drink?!” 

Sirius shrugged, looking back at the kitchen that was just barely visible from his position with a sigh. “The bottle was full when I started.” he said. He winced at his haggard voice, and it only made Remus angrier. 

“Full?! This… This bottle? That’s sitting on the floor by your feet? This _empty_ bottle?!” Remus cried. Sirius looked down, and sure enough, there was the bottle that he’d been slowly drinking from. It had been his father’s favorite brand. Say what you will about the man, but his taste in alcohol was exquisite. 

“Yep.” Sirius said, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. He sighed, leaning his head back against the stuffy couch. 

“Sirius you---” Remus took a deep breath, calming himself before he continued. “That is a lot of alcohol. And you’re drinking alone, now? What’s gotten into you? You promised me you’d stop doing this! I’m really getting worried about you, Siri. You’re just sitting here, in this house, all day! That’s not good for you! Especially given the memories you have of this place---”

“He would’ve been eleven today.” 

Remus’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, effectively silencing the man’s lecture. It was silent in the house, the only noise coming from the crackling fire by Sirius. Remus stared at Sirius and Sirius stared back, his onyx eyes holding no emotion. Finally, Remus sighed and walked over to him. He made a motion with his hands signalling Sirius to scoot over. He did. Remus sat down next to him and wrapped his arms around his trembling lover. 

“He would have gotten his Hogwarts letter already,” Sirius continued, looking absently into the fire. “We would have had such a big celebration. I would’ve embarrassed him real good in front of his friends, maybe give him a huge hug and kiss him all over his face.”

Remus snorted. “I better he would have hated that.” 

“He would have,” Sirius agreed. “But he would just laugh about it later. And we would’ve had a big cake. And I would have showered him with presents… And maybe I’d sneak him the map… And we would have sat around the fire way past his bedtime just talking about Hogwarts and what our years were like there… And… And…” 

Sirius cut himself off then, because he knew if he kept talking, he would’ve broken down right then and there. Remus’s arms tightened around him and a choked back sob escaped through his clenched teeth. 

“He would’ve been so _happy_ \---” his voice cracked. “---here with us. He would’ve…” 

Remus buried his face in Sirius’s shoulder, probably wanting to stay strong for Sirius’s sake, but Sirius knew that he was crying. Sirius didn’t want Remus to stay strong for him. Sirius just wanted him to be there. Because Sirius knew that Remus was grieving too. 

“I miss him…” Remus’s whispered admission was almost lost to the folds of Sirius’s tattered sweater, but he heard him. 

And Sirius couldn’t hold it back anymore. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, and Sirius bit his lip to keep the horrid sounds silent. His grip on Remus’s arm tightened to the point where Sirius could see his tendons sticking out against the white skin. 

“I’m so sorry, Moony,” Sirius whispered over and over again. “It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry.” 

And despite Remus denying it, Sirius knew deep down in his heart that it was true. It was all his fault. If Sirius had just ignored Dumbledore, if he had just remained stubborn, if he had just _kept Harry with him._

But he didn’t.

He had relented after several long hours of debate with Dumbledore about where his godson should go. He was still grieving over the loss of his best friends, and he was just so damn tired. He had argued for so long with Dumbledore, insisting that he was in the right place to take care of the baby. 

But Dumbledore won the argument, saying that Sirius needed a few months to grieve and mourn for James and Lily, and that he couldn’t do that with a baby to watch over. He had conceded and allowed Dumbledore to place Harry with his maternal Aunt for a few months so Sirius could wrap his head around everything. 

It was only supposed to be for a few months. 

When Sirius had passed all the tests from the mind-healers, Sirius went to get him. Dumbledore had stopped him, claiming that Sirius couldn’t take care of Harry because of his job. Sirius had agreed with him to a small extent---being an Auror was a very dangerous job. It required long hours and dangerous missions and cursed objects. All things that Sirius was very vehement about keeping _away_ from Harry. 

But Sirius was with Remus, and Remus could watch Harry when Sirius couldn’t. And Sirius would be there during the full moons so Remus wouldn’t have to. They had the whole thing worked out already, and they already had a room ready for Harry to move into. 

But Dumbledore said it would be cruel to take Harry away from his new family after letting him get used to it. Said it would hurt Harry because he was so happy there. And the last thing Sirius wanted was to hurt Harry. He had reluctantly agreed to speak to Harry and the Dursleys before he did anything, just so that he could get to know Harry, when the order went out. 

A month or so before Harry was born, the Dark Lord took over the Ministry. It was an embarrassingly quick defeat that left the Dark Lord in control. It took a year or so for Magical Britain to settle after the long and bloody war, but once it settled, life seemed to be going good. Far better than Sirius expected, what with having a mad man running things. 

The Order of Phoenix went underground after the Ministry’s defeat. Sirius and James, however, were order-bound to continue working as Aurors under the New Ministry. Everything was going fine until the rebellion started. 

It took almost two months for it to be fully stamped out, and in the process, Sirius lost _everything_. His lover was sent away for protection because some of the Rebels were werewolves. People were overly suspicious of werewolves _before_ the attacks, but once it got out that some of the rebels were werewolves, suddenly _all_ werewolves were rebels. Sirius insisted that Remus leave until everything calmed down after he was attacked in broad daylight outside Gringotts. 

And James… James and Lily were innocent bystanders when the Death Eaters raided Diagon Alley. James wasn’t even on duty that day, they were just out shopping for books when Lily was caught in the crossfire between the Death Eaters and a handful of rebels that had been taking refuge in one of the shops there. 

James had tried to save Lily, and when he realized it was too late, drew his wand at the man who had cast the spell. The Death Eater did not hesitate to strike him down, too. Just like that, Sirius had lost his best friends and his lover over the span of a week. 

Little Harry was orphaned, and Sirius was named Godfather. And he never got the chance to do what Lily and James had wanted because right when he was going to retrieve him, he was sent out on a two-year mission undercover in bloody _France_ to find the supposed benefactor of the rebels. 

(Sirius did not doubt that the only reason he was chosen was because of his association with the Order of Phoenix during the war. A convenient excuse to send as many possible spies out of the country for as long as possible, while the Dark Lord strengthened his hold on the country.)

And when Sirius was finally allowed back into the country, when he finally sorted out his job, his home, his soon-to-be-husband, and his expenses, it had been nearly three years since he’d last seen his godson. 

This time, when Dumbledore tried to convince him to stay away, Sirius told him to stuff it. Sirius went to Harry’s Aunt’s house, expecting to find his beautiful godson playing outside with a smile on his face. 

Instead he found an abandoned house with no sign of people having _ever_ lived there. 

Sirius had stared at the remnants of 4 Privet Drive, eyes wide with horror. The house looked like it had been burnt down, it was old and rotted. The other houses on the street were perfect and pristine in comparison and it struck him a little odd that a neighborhood that held aesthetics to such high esteem would leave a rotted, burnt down, husk of a house in the middle of the neighborhood. 

He approached it wearily, and second he entered the front yard, he passed through strong wards. Muggle-Repellents, Notice-Me-Nots, and a strong glamour all layered on top of each other covered the perimeter of the property. 

At first Sirius had been elated. That meant Harry was still living here! But then the elation turned to fear in the blink of an eye, because the wards were meant to keep muggles from approaching the house. (Or what was left of it.) And _not_ for protection of what was in the house. 

The after effects of strong dark magic passed over him like a wave. Sirius stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a half-destroyed ritual circle. And Sirius knew. 

He fell to his knees and screamed. He screamed until his voice gave out and all he could do was curl up and cry. And he did just that. He wept until the sun went down and there were no more tears left to give. 

Because Sirius knew, without a doubt, that Harry wasn’t here. Because Sirius knew that his sweet, innocent godson, the final connection he had to his deceased friends, was dead. 

And Sirius grieved. 

He grieved for a very long time. 

And as he looked at the fireplace once more, the fire slowly dying now, Remus asleep on his chest, dried tear tracks on his cheeks, Sirius continued to grieve for the godson he loved and lost and never had the chance to raise.

* * *

**_-August 31 1991-_**  
Voldemort sat contently on the ground, his dark robes splayed out on the grass while his legs were crossed together. He watched with a fond smile on his face as Little One played with Nagini, letting out the softest peals of laughter that made Voldemort’s heart swell. 

He watched as Little One booped his familiar on the head before running away. Nagini hissed before she gave chase to the toddler. Little One opened his mouth in a silent squeal and smiled wide, darting out of the serpent's reach. 

Little One was distracted, though, when a butterfly fluttered past him to land on a flower. Little One stopped to coo at it, and that was when Nagini struck. She quickly coiled around the giggling Inferius and scented his face, causing Little One giggle silently at the ticklish gesture. 

Voldemort felt a wave of possessiveness course through him at the sight of two of _his_ things getting along together. Voldemort knew that Nagini considered Little One as a hatchling, and Voldemort had heard the adorable whispers of Little One referring to the snake as his ‘snake-momma’. He was grateful that the two were so close because he knew that Nagini would protect Little One. 

Voldemort could not lose Little One.

Unbidden, an image of Little One covered in blood, his wide emerald-eyes slowly draining of life popped into his head. He shivered at the unwelcome feeling of fear coursing through him. He was Lord Voldemort and he was above such feelings, yet somehow Little One was always the exception. 

The toddler had managed to worm his way into Voldemort’s nonexistent heart, and now Voldemort would _never_ let him leave. 

Voldemort motioned for the toddler to come to him, and Little One smiled brightly at him and waddled over to where he sat. Voldemort felt some of the fear lessen at the sight of his child standing in front of him. Voldemort let his affection show on his face when Little One presented him with a red Spider Lily. 

Voldemort took the flower, holding it tightly with one hand, and with the other, he maneuvered Little One so that he was sitting in his lap. Little One sat contently in his lap, only squirming slightly so that he could reach over to pet Nagini. 

Voldemort felt another rare moment of weakness flow through him as he held Little One. He could have lost this… He could have been too late… And Little One would’ve been gone from this world forever. 

_Dull green eyes staring up at the ceiling lifelessly. Blood spattered on the floor around him. The bright, happy smile did not decorate his face and Voldemort did not feel the bright wholeness he usually felt when he was with him. Voldemort felt nothing. He was numb. Voldemort was numb and he was dead._

Voldemort shuddered, forcibly removing himself from the ~~memories~~ thoughts. Voldemort detested the weakness he felt in that moment, but he detested the numbness he felt tenfold. Voldemort refused to feel such a thing again, just as he refused to let the world go on without Little One’s bright light. 

Yes, Little One was his one and only weakness. But the Great Lord Voldemort was powerful enough to sustain such a weakness. He would not lose Little One, and he would be stronger, more powerful because of it. 

He hugged Little One’s pliant body closer to his chest and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head. 

He would never lose him. 

Not again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! We're starting to get a little bit of background now! I hope you liked it, and if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a kudos and a review! Also, I saw another author do this and was really grateful, so I figured I start doing it too! 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** The Days of a Flower written by yaoigirl22  
> This is a severitus fic where Voldemort and Severus eventually get together and mutually raise Harry! It's super cute and I totally suggest, if you haven't already, you go and read it!  
> \----------------------  
> Sirius: Did you just get a tingle? I just got a tingle  
> Remus: A,,, tingle?  
> Sirius: Yeah. Like someone is plotting against me  
> Meanwhile, Voldemort: *plots the best way to keep Little One hidden from the world forever*  
> Voldemort: Heh heh heh  
> Voldemort: Come at me Black


	6. 5: Hogwarts and Cheer-Up Parties

**_-September 1 1991-_**  
Draco prided himself in his ability to maintain the Malfoy Mask. It was a well crafted mask that Draco was required to wear so that he would remain the aloof Heir to the Malfoy family as tradition. The mask would only be dropped among his closest friends and family, and he learned very early on in life, who fell into that category. 

Yet sitting here in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Draco found himself struggling to maintain his emotionless facade. It was just so beautiful here, and he was just in awe of the magnificent castle-turned-school. 

Draco ignored the welcome speech from the headmaster---the barmy old fool should count himself lucky that he was still permitted to govern the school---and instead chose to familiarize himself with his fellow Slytherins. 

Draco sat with his close friends, Theo, Blaise and Pansy, but he still wanted to get to know the other first-years and start his political circle. It would be beneficial to get to know the older students as well, but Draco figured it’d be best if he worked his way up. 

As he ate, he laughed at the terrible jokes Blaise cracked, all while keeping a discreet eye on the other people in the hall. Despite the peace that Wizarding Britain had faced for the past decade, animosity between Slytherin and the other houses was still high. Draco ignored the weary glances of the Hufflepuffs, the calculating gazes of the Ravenclaws, and the direct _sneers_ from the Gryffindor, in favor of familiarizing himself with his housemates. 

Daphne Greengrass---a well-standing Pure-Blood with ample political power and wealth---had been sorted into Slytherin. No surprise there. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle sat by the corner whispering to themselves, and Draco tried not to screw his face up with disgust as Crabbe stuffed his face with food. Millicent Bulstrode was gossiping with Tracey Davis by the Second-Years, and Draco knew better than to bother himself with those two. 

Draco sighed, and slouched in a subtle way as he reached for his pumpkin juice. Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow at the sight, almost as if she were asking him what the matter was. In response, Draco subtly glanced at his other house mates and shifted his shoulders in a microscopic shrug. 

Pansy snorted softly and returned to her food. 

The rest of the feast continued in amicable silence, small conversations being struck up at random intervals, but otherwise quiet. Draco followed the Prefects to the Slytherins Dorm after the feast, smiling as Theo talked to him about Hogwarts. 

Theo was, for lack of a better term, a nerd. He had floo-called Draco two weeks before term started to rant about Hogwarts and the school. He’d gotten Hogwarts: A History as a gift for his birthday and spent the entire call talking about the different things he learned. Draco had smiled at him and listened as he spoke, pretending to be as interested in it as he was. 

“This is the entrance to the Slytherin dorms,” the Prefect---a Seventh-Year named Bellamoon or something had said. Draco tuned out Theo’s rambling so that he could listen to the important information being handed out. “The password is Salazar. Don’t forget it, or you won’t be able to get it.”

Bellamoon whispered the password and the bare stone wall rumbled and Draco had to forcibly keep his jaw shut as he watched with awe as the stone wall split to reveal a common room. It was beautiful. Lush furniture decorated the room and on either side, large staircases led up to the dorm rooms. The center of the room sat a lavish fireplace---a portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself sat on the mantle. 

“The right stairs lead to the girl’s dormitory,” Bellamoon said, directing the First-Years attention onto her. “If anyone but a girl tries to go up them, the stairs will send you back down. The stairs on the left lead to the boys dorm, and they are the same as the girl’s. Please, stay with your respective dorms.” 

Bellamoon continued to ramble about school rules and other things before she dismissed them. Draco quickly, but elegantly, scaled the stairs, eager to settle into his new room. He smiled when he saw that he was paired with Theo and Blaise. It was three to a dorm, and Draco lucked out. He could’ve been stuck with Crabbe and Goyle. Draco shuddered at the thought. 

A flash of red caught his eye, and Draco turned to see a single Red Carnation sitting in a vase by his bed. His mouth felt dry suddenly, and he approached the flower with wide eyes. How… Draco’s eyes narrowed. No doubt, his mother sent the flower along with his belongings. How the Malfoy Matriarch had convinced the school to allow this, Draco didn’t know, but he wasn’t surprised. People found it quite difficult to say ‘no’ to Narcissa Malfoy. 

Draco sat down on his bed---the golden plaque sitting above the headboard proudly displaying his name---and stared at the flower. 

“You miss him, don’t you?” 

Draco turned his head to see that Theo and Blaise had entered the dorms at some point while he’d been eyeing the flower. Draco shrugged slightly, allowing his cold mask to drop in the presence of his closest friends. 

“It’s okay, Dray,” Theo said softly, sitting on the bed next to him. “I miss him too. And you’re much closer to him than either of us.” he said, pointing to Blaise who was silently putting his things away while giving the pair space. Theo was better at cheering up Draco when he was in a mood, always have been. 

It was true, Draco supposed. He was much closer to Little One than anyone else in his friend circle. Draco supposed it was because of his mother’s job. Narcissa---for as long as Draco could remember Little One being around---had been Little One’s designated babysitter. 

Had it been anyone else, Narcissa would’ve been offended at her station. However, something about Little One just inevitably endeared you to him. Narcissa adored her role with Little One, and often dragged Draco with her when she watched the toddler. 

Over the many years that Draco had known Little One, they became very close. Draco thought of the baby inferius as his little brother, and Draco knew that he’d do anything to protect him. It’s going to be very strange without Little One around. 

It’s going to take some serious getting used to, not seeing Little One every few days, and Draco knew that the second the red Carnation on his nightstand wilted, he was going to be very sad. Maybe he could ask his mother to send him a carnation every time she visited the Dark Lord’s Castle. 

“Don’t worry, Dray,” Theo said, squeezing his hand. “We’ll see him over Yule. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” 

Draco squeezed back, his gaze not leaving the Carnation on his nightstand. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It’ll be fine.”

* * *

Little One wandered the castle aimlessly. 

Little One didn’t really have a set destination in mind, he was just wandering. His snake-momma was off eating again, and he didn’t know where Papa was, and Auntie Cissy wasn’t here either. Little One was bored in his room---he’d made several flower crowns, but there was no one to wear them. 

And so, flower crowns in hand, Little One set out to find company. He traced the old stones of the castle walls with one hand as he walked, tracing his way around the castle. It was unusually quiet in the castle, and it made Little One nervous. 

The castle wasn’t silent often. 

There were always people walking around, talking, laughing, screaming---Little One didn’t know _why_ they screamed, but he heard it nonetheless---but for some reason, no one was around. By now, Little One would’ve encountered someone in their funny little masks and given them a flower crown, but he still hadn’t found anyone. 

Little One stood in an empty common room, the light from the outside gardens shining through the ceiling-length windows, and crossed his arms. His emerald-eyes scrunched with confusion as he looked around. 

There was no one in the castle. 

Little One shifted nervously, and he fought the urge to run and hide. Little One didn’t like being all alone, it made him nervous. Snake-momma wasn’t here, and Little One heard Aunty Cissy telling Papa that she would be in France for a little while, but why was Papa gone? 

He sat down in a heap in the center of the common room, suddenly fighting the urge to cry. 

“ _What’s wrong, Little One?_ ” Little One looked up to see snake-momma slithering into the room. Little One giggled silently when her tongue flicked over his cheek. That tickled! “ _You smell sad._ ”

“ _I’m all alone_ ,” Little One hissed softly, forcibly reminding himself not to jump. Papa didn’t mind when Little One spoke. Little One wouldn’t get punished for speaking. Not here. “ _I don’t like being alone._ ” 

Snake-momma hissed at him, and Little One could tell that she was amused. “ _You are not alone, silly child_ ,” she said, coiling around him in comfort. Little One counted her scales idly. “ _I am here._ ”

“ _Where is Papa?_ ” Little One asked, petting snake-momma gently. Snake-momma hissed in content as Little One stroked her scales. His flower crowns lay forgotten on the floor, as Little One relaxed in his snake-momma’s hold. 

“ _Master is away_ ,” snake-momma said. “ _He has business to attend to._ ” 

Little One frowned. He was no stranger to Papa’s random expeditions that would keep him out of the house for days on end. Little One always hated those. He was gone for so long doing things that Little One didn’t understand. He had asked Papa once, what he did when he was gone. Papa had just chuckled at him and promised that it was nothing. 

Little One didn’t like it when Papa was away for a very long time. Little One liked Aunty Cissy just fine, but her goodnight hugs were never as good as Papa’s, and she wasn’t very good at making Little One feel better after a nightmare. Little One wished that Papa would just stay at home with him, but Little One didn’t want to be selfish. 

If Little One was good, then he’d get to stay here with his Papa, and his snake-momma, and his Aunty Cissy, and his Draco, and his garden forever! 

But even still… 

Another thing that Little One hated about Papa leaving, was how _sad_ Papa would be when he came home. Little One knew he was sad because he would come find him and hug him for a really long time. Why else would Papa do that unless he was sad? Little One was really good about making Papa feel better---he would always give him flowers and play with him. Then he’d be much happier than he was when he came home. 

Little One bit his lip and slowly stood up, ignoring his snake-momma’s confused hissing. If Papa was away on business, then he was going to be sad again when he came home. 

“ _Little One?_ ” snake-momma asked. 

“ _Papa needs flowers._ ” Little One said in response. Snake-momma was still confused, Little One could tell, but he chose to walk back to his room instead. He needed to find the perfect flowers for Papa. 

His room was very large---Little One had still not explored all of it. Papa made it into a perfect garden, just for him that never ended---but in the very center sat a huge oak tree. The branches spread out in a soft canopy filled with glowing lights. His bed hung from soft vines and was a perfect swing. But the best part, hidden in the round knob in the center of the trunk, was his Hidden Things. 

It was a trunk full of Little One’s most precious belongings. Inside it lay a tattered, old baby blanket, (the only thing Little One had left of his first parents) a toy ball that Papa had given him on the night he brought him home. It was small and golden and it had tiny fairy wings that fluttered whenever Little One was near. A pair of broken glasses that he’d gotten for a birthday long before Papa came and rescued him. And finally, two paper drawings. One was of a family Little One dreamed about every now and again---a mommy with bright red hair and a daddy with big glasses and black hair. There were the two uncles Padfoot and Moony, and a baby that never cried. Little One didn’t know who they were, but he always felt happy when he woke from those dreams. The second was of his family---Papa, with his bright red eyes and elegant features. (Little One had heard some of Papa’s friends talking about how he was really handsome and pretty. Little One had told Papa that with a soft giggle.) Snake-momma and Little One were standing next to Papa, and there were tiny flowers drawn around them. 

Papa said that it was his favorite drawing in the whole wide world. 

Little One pulled out the trunk and grabbed his second drawing, before he safely tucked it back away. If Papa was sad, then maybe seeing his favorite drawing would help cheer him up. 

Then Little One pulled out a whole bunch of Papa’s favorite flowers: Red Spider Lilies. 

He smiled at the flowers before he ran quickly to Papa’s room. Snake-momma was already in Papa’s room, curled up by the fireplace. She lifted her head when Little One entered and hissed sleepily at him. Little One smiled and quickly placed the flowers in a pile on the floor. 

(Little One would’ve placed the flowers in a vase, but Papa said Little One wasn’t allowed to after he broke it last time and stepped into the shards.)

He set his Papa’s favorite drawing next to the flowers before he pulled out one of his books. Papa knew that Little One liked to read, and the lowest shelf on his bookshelf in his room was all for Little One. Little One then crawled over to snake-momma to read. 

Snake-momma coiled around him in a protective gesture, and Little One settled in comfortably and began to read. It didn’t take long before snake-momma’s calming embrace and the warmth from the fire pulled Little One into a peaceful sleep.

It wasn’t until several hours later, did Voldemort find them.

Voldemort entered his room with a weary sigh, exhausted from dealing with idiots in the New Ministry all day. His eyes widened when he saw what was waiting for him in his room. First he notices the bouquet of flowers sitting on the floor, and the drawing Little One made a few years ago. 

He smiles fondly as he lifts the flower and turns to place them in the vase by his bedside. He then picks up the drawing and sets it on his nightstand. He turns his head when he hears a sleepy murmur. 

He smiles wider at the sight of Little One curled up with Nagini, asleep by the fire. 

He leans down and gently lifts the toddler out of Nagini’s protective grasp. Little One stirs, but does not wake, and Voldemort presses a soft kiss to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead---he ignores the rage he feels when he thinks about how his Little One received the scar---and walks though the portrait of flowers that connect his room to Little One’s. He gently lays the inferius on the soft bed of wild flowers and covers him with a handmade quilt gifted to him from Narcissa. 

“You are my most precious,” he whispers as he smooths out Little One’s hair. “No harm shall ever befall you.” 

He then kisses Little One’s temple once more before he walks out of the room and back into his quarters. He sighs as he lays down on the bed, but the anger and annoyance washes away at the sight of the family drawing and flowers on his nightstand. 

Voldemort fell asleep peacefully, and the moon rose outside, casting a warm glow on the vase of Spider Lilies on the Dark Lord’s bedside table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! :)))
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Death’s son written by LittleMissXanda  
> This is a fun one where Harry is the Master of Death and Death's adopted son! This is a Tomarry fic, and it's really great! You should totally check it out!!!  
> \----------------------  
> Draco: I want another flower  
> Blaise: I can gather you some--  
> Draco: NOT FROM YOU!!!!!  
> Draco: :'(


	7. 6: The Order's New Spy

**_-September 4 1991-_ **  
_“The Dark Lord has no weakness.”_

Severus sighed. It’d been close two and half weeks since his meeting with the Order and he was still thinking about it. After he had refused to share the Dark Lord’s weakness, he’d been tasked with finding something, _anything_ , that could bring the Dark Lord down. Severus had accepted the assignment with a grim nod before he flooed home. 

He’d been sending the Order short notes, each one declaring the same thing; The Dark Lord has no weakness. It was an easy enough lie to believe---most of the Order considered the Dark lord to be untouchable, not human. It wasn’t hard to believe that someone like that would not have a weakness. 

But damn if Albus did. The old coot refused to accept such an answer, and continued to send Severus out on what the rest of the Order believed to be a wild goose chase. Severus wasn’t complaining, however, as it gave him more time to try and warn the Dark Lord. 

Severus was a Slytherin through and through; he was cunning, he was resourceful, but most importantly, he was as self-serving as they come. When the Dark Lord’s raid inadvertently killed Lily, he had, in a moment of weakness, turned to the Order. He regretted it more than anything, and wished for nothing more than to betray them and return to the dark. But he couldn’t. Why?

Because of Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore. 

The old man, while ridiculously optimistic and rumored to be senile, was a smart bastard. When Severus had turned to him in his moment of weakness, he was not turned away. Rather, he was welcomed with open arms. But the welcome was conditional. Dumbledore was smart enough to realize that he was in the middle of a war. Just because the battles had ended, did not mean that the war had stopped being fought. And Dumbledore wouldn’t let just anyone into his ranks. 

And that was when the oath came into play. 

Severus had accepted the oath that bound him to Dumbledore’s cause, and because of it, he was unable to betray them nor warn the Dark Lord that the Order was searching for his weakness. Not without losing his life and magic. 

So Severus was stalling. 

He didn’t want to lose his magic or life, but he couldn’t let the Order get their hands on Little One. Putting aside the obvious destruction the Dark Lord would cause if he lost his Inferius, Little One was too innocent, too precious to expose to the monstrosities of war. 

Severus thought about the adorable Inferius. He had first met Little One during the Yule of 1987. The Dark Lord had introduced the inferius to his inner circle and closest Death Eaters during the celebration feast. He had brought the child in and informed them that Little One was to be protected as his life was most precious. 

The members of the feast had looked at each other in shock and confusion, but it was all collectively agreed that the child Inferius in front of them would be protected. They had noticed their Lord was acting more and more sane lately, and they had all wondered about the cause of such a feat. When the Dark Lord introduced Little One, crimson eyes shining with such a deep fondness, it was obvious who was responsible for their Lord’s sanity. 

Little One had smiled at them silently, and Severus had been unable to hide his surprise when the Inferius walked around the table and handed everyone a personalized flower. They had looked at their Lord for guidance, but he had only nodded at them, so they accepted the flowers. 

When Little One had approached Severus, he tilted his head at him, and the stitches on his neck were put on broad display. His eyes were an uncanny hue of green---glowing like that of the Killing Curse---and Severus’s jaw dropped as the Inferius handed him a single lily. 

Severus was stuck silent at the flower, and his hands trembled ever so slightly as he took the flower from him. Severus was silent for the rest of the feast, moving only to eat the food prepared for him and to lightly twist the lily in his hand. 

The rest of the Death Eaters were introduced to Little One over time, and eventually, the sight of a toddler Inferius walking around the Dark Lord’s castle became the norm. No one dared to question the child, and no one was suicidal enough to harm him. Not only would they face the Dark Lord’s wrath, they would also face the wrath of the Inner Circle, who fancied themselves Aunts and Uncles to the Inferius. 

Severus cursed and slammed another book shut, throwing with anger at the wall. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing about breaking an Unbreakable Vow. The name was truly self explanatory. Severus had hoped that a ritual, or perhaps a potion… But no. 

Severus growled, hating the feeling of helplessness that surrounded him. Severus could not let the Order take Little One, but his hands were tied. There was only so much time Severus could stall for. The only reprieve that Severus felt was in the knowledge that without Severus’s help, the Order would not find out about Little One. 

Eventually, Dumbledore would have to give up. The Order would convince him to stop searching for something that didn’t exist, and instead convince him to choose a new tactic. Severus just needed to wait until they gave up hope. 

Suddenly, a lynx patronus burst into his kitchen. Kingsley’s voice boomed over the silence of the small room. “Order meeting. Grimmauld Place in ten minutes.” 

_Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear._

Severus groaned in annoyance, and began to clean up the mess of papers and books scattered about his kitchen table. He would have to attend the meeting, but when he returned he would continue to research ways to get out of his oath. 

Hopefully this doesn’t take too long. 

* * *

“My friends, I come bearing good news,” Albus said, his trademark grandfatherly smile resting on his aged face. Severus resisted the urge to sneer. This should be good. “My second spy has come forth with the Dark Lord’s weakness!”

Severus felt his insides _freeze._

“Second… Second spy?” he choked out, forcibly holding his mask in place. “What second spy?” 

Albus’s blue eyes twinkled and it made Severus want to curse him. “You are not the only spy in the Dark Lord’s ranks,” he said simply. “I saw no need to inform you of him, as it would risk blowing your cover.”

Bullshite. Severus knew right then and there that Albus was beginning to doubt Severus. That wasn’t good. If he doubted Severus then he would have a much harder time protecting Little One and getting out of the Order. 

“What’s the weakness?” Molly Weasley asked. Severus was hopeful, though. If there was another spy in the ranks, then there was no way they wouldn’t know the severity of the consequences they’d face should they reveal Little One. 

“It appears the Dark Lord has an Inferius.” Albus said, and choked gasps were heard all around the table. 

_Shite!_ Severus was frozen to his chair, his eyes wide with disbelief. Whoever this spy was, they were either suicidal enough to dare to reveal Little One, or were ridiculously determined to the cause that the consequences didn’t matter. 

“An… Inferius?” Lupin asked, his hand squeezing Black’s. “I don’t… How… Why is the Inferius the weakness?” 

“Unfortunately, the spy is not high up in the ranks. They only just received word of it,” Albus said, and a part of Severus felt relieved, the spy didn’t know what he’d just done. Another part of him, though, felt enraged. _The spy didn’t know what they’d just done!_ “However, the Inner Circle and older members have known about the Inferius for years.” 

Suddenly, all eyes were on him. Albus, you bloody bastard. Severus glared at them, incorporating his best ‘ _Dungeon-Bat Glare_ ’. He may not be a teacher at Hogwarts anymore, but his reputation preceded him. 

“Were you aware of the Inferius, Severus?” Albus asked. Severus felt his chest give a tug and realized that Dumbledore was pulling on his bond. The bastard was using the oath against him!

“I was.” Severus bit out.

“And you didn’t think to tell us, Snivellus?!” Black snapped. Severus glared at him. 

“I was not suicidal enough to try!” Severus snapped back. It appeared there was no way out of telling them. Perhaps, Severus could still save the situation. If he stressed just how dangerous taking the Inferius away could be, they wouldn’t attempt it. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Black sneered. 

Severys sighed. “The Dark Lord… The Inferius is most precious to him. To tell the Order about him would mean instant death.” 

“Why is he so precious?” Lupin asked. “Who is he?” 

“No one knows,” Severus said with a slight shrug. “Only the Dark Lord.” 

“Then why is he so important?” Molly asked, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. “Is he dangerous? A weapon?” 

Unbidden, a smile spread across Severus’s face. The Order looked at him in shock, having never seen a smile on the man’s face. “No.” Severus said with a shake of his head. “Little One is not a weapon. He’s completely harmless.” 

“Little One?” Kingsley asked. 

“That is what he is called,” Severus said. “No one, apart from the Dark Lord, knows who he is, what his name is, nor the connection he has to the Dark Lord. He is called Little One, and is loved and protected by all who meet him.”

“How can that be?” Kingsley asked. 

Severus shrugged slightly once more. “Little One appears to be about four or so. The ritual used to bring him back to life was done perfectly, and he is intelligent. He doesn’t speak, but he has the ability. He is… He acts like a regular toddler.” 

It was silent around the table as the Order took in Severus’s words. Incredulous looks rested on everyone’s face as they processed the new information. Finally, Molly spoke. 

“If he’s not a weapon, why is he precious to the Dark Lord?” she asked. Judging from the way everyone else leaned forward, the rest of the Order was thinking the same thing. 

Severus sighed. “The Dark Lord… is very paternal towards the child.” 

Everyone gasped once more, and Molly’s eyes widened. No one seemed to know how to react to that. Severus sat still, anxiously waiting for their reactions. He needed to convince the Order not to take Little One. It was crucial that the Dark Lord keep his Inferius, lest the entirety of Magical Britain suffer for it. 

Finally, Black spoke. “You’re telling me the Dark Lord has an Inferius son and you didn’t say anything sooner?!” 

“I saw no need to bring a toddler into this!” Severus hissed. 

“How do you know he isn't already in this?!” Black exploded, throwing his hands up in the air in agitation. “You know nothing about the thing! How do you know the Dark Lord didn’t kill him?” 

The idea that the Dark Lord killed Little One was so preposterous that Severus scoffed. “We’re talking about a man who tortured one of his most prized followers for _days_ after he made Little One cry!” he snarled. “The Dark Lord would never hurt the child!” 

“This is most concerning,” Albus cut it. Severus sat back in his chair, his attention solely on Dumbledore now. “Inferi requires serious dark magic. Are you certain the Inferius is not controlling the Dark Lord.” 

Severus shook his head. “I don’t think the child even knows what the Dark Lord does. He is very sheltered.” 

“I suppose that is a good thing,” Albus said. “It will make bringing him here a lot easier.” 

Everyone began shouting over top of each other, each one trying to make their opinion clear. Severus, however, was frozen to his chair. Bringing Little One to Grimmauld Place? That could not be allowed. 

“Albus.” Severus said, his sharp voice cutting over the other yells in the room. Everyone turned to look at him. “That is the worst idea you’ve ever had in existence.” 

“Surely, my boy, rescuing the Inferius---”

“He does not need rescuing from the Dark Lord!” Severus snapped. “Listen to me, Albus. The Dark Lord is protective and possessive of the child to the point of _obsession_. We can not take him from the Dark Lord.” 

“If the Dark Lord is as obsessed as you say, taking the Inferius from him will weaken him.” Albus pointed out. “It would be the perfect time to strike.” 

Everyone who had been hesitant about taking the Inferius before seemed to agree with that statement. Severus was afraid of this, but he knew this would happen. “Albus,” he said seriously. The old man looked at him with his grandfatherly smile. “If we do this...there will be a _bloodbath_.”

Everyone in the order winced at this, shifting uncomfortably. “Surely it will not be as bad as you think, my boy.” Dumbledore said, trying to ease the members. 

Severus shook his head, desperate to get his point across. “If we take Little One from him, he will not stop until he is returned. I urge you to think about this carefully. This is the one weakness that the Dark Lord will not lose.” 

Albus looked weary but determined, and his silence gave the answer that Severus was dreading, yet expecting. He sighed. 

“Very well. I will bring him when I can.” he said with a regretful tone. Better he do it, then this supposed spy. If they were suicidal enough to inform the Order of the Dark Lord’s pseudo-son, then who’s to say he wouldn’t harm Little One in the process? No, this way, Severus could keep Little One safe, and keep an eye on the Order all at once. And this way, he wouldn’t be breaking that damned oath he’d been forced into.

Hopefully, Little One would be returned before the Dark Lord destroyed too much of Britain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh Oh... Hopefully this doesn't end in disaster... 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** The Glass Serpent and the Dark Horse written by KaedeRavensdale  
> This is a story about Tom Riddle Sr. being a good dad to Tom Riddle! It's a Tomarry slow burn, and it's really focused on the father-son relationship between the Riddles. You should totally check it out!  
> \----------------------  
> Voldemort: I feel like someone is plotting against me...


	8. 7: A Freaky Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Mentions of past child abuse**

**_-September 5 1991-_**  
The Dark Lord was inducting recruits again. Narcissa had been surprised when Lucius came home to tell her about them. It’d been a good few years since the Dark Lord actively recruited. To be fair, the last time the Dark Lord recruited, the war was still fresh on everyone’s mind. People were a lot less inclined to join the ranks of the brand new dictator. After a few years went by and the New Ministry settled, people were far more willing. (Narcissa was pretty sure it had to do with the fact the Dark Lord _wasn’t really_ a dictator. The Dark Lord acted more like the British muggle Monarchy. He was in a state of power, but not overbearing.) Either way, the Dark Lord was recruiting once more, and the new recruits were currently going through the induction ceremony. 

Narcissa stood by her husband with the rest of the Inner Circle members on the raised platform to the right of the Dark Lord’s throne. She watched with pointed disinterest as the new recruits blanched at the sight of their Lord sitting on the throne, a gigantic snake in his lap. It appeared that the new recruits were less informed than she thought. 

While it was true that the Dark Lord had stepped out of the spotlight after the end of the war, he was still very infamous among the citizens of Magical Britain. She assumed that all the recruits would be more aware of their Lord’s belongings and mannerisms. Not to mention, there were several stories of what their Lord was like circulating the masses, and a good amount of them held a strong degree of truth to them. 

She held back a smug smile as the recruits flinched as the Dark Lord stood. Narcissa had only witnessed two induction ceremonies, so she knew what to expect, but the excitement of seeing them hadn’t faded yet. 

“Welcome,” her Lord said in a deep baritone. She watched as the recruits all relaxed slightly at the welcoming tone of her Lord. “I am grateful that you have come to join me. You will bring honor to your family’s name and progeny to come.” 

Narcissa remained indifferent as the Dark Lord’s welcoming speech continued. Instead of paying attention to her Lord’s words, Narcissa studied the new recruits. These recruits were the children in Hogwarts during the war eleven years ago. They were most suited to be recruited, as they had time to adapt to the New Ministry. 

Narcissa didn’t know any by name, all of them were either young enough to escape her attention, or of a family that Narcissa did not keep track of. They stood straight as a board while the Dark Lord spoke, their eyes never straying from his standing form. 

Narcissa watched patiently beside her husband as the recruits lined up single file in front of the Dark Lord’s throne. They each knelt in front of the Dark Lord and attempted to hold back agonized screams as the Dark Lord marked them. When the last recruit had been marked, they stood in a semi-circle around the Dark Lord’s throne. 

The Dark Lord gave a final parting speech before the recruits were dismissed to the dining hall. As per tradition, the new recruits would spend the rest of the day in the castle getting to know the other followers. 

Narcissa, along with the other Inner Circle and family members, sat on the raised platform where the Dark Lord and important members ate. The other four tables were placed on the floor in a fashion so similar to Hogwarts, it made Narcissa sentimental. 

The recruits sat amongst lower ranked Death Eaters and family members, talking and laughing as they familiarized themselves with the hierarchy. No doubt, the new recruits would be pushing the lower ranked in an attempt to gain more status. 

Already, Bellatrix and Barty were holding bets as to which recruit would be killed by an angry follower first. Narcissa, never one to partake in such an uncouth display, merely ate her food in a dignified fashion. 

“My Lord,” Barty called, interrupting the comfortable silence at the table. Her Lord looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Will Little One be joining us this evening?”

Everyone at the table froze then, turning to the Dark Lord in interest. The last time the Dark Lord held an induction ceremony, Little One was introduced to the recruits on a seperate day. However, everyone loved Little One, and the opportunity to play with him for a little while was enticing to everyone. Especially because Little One had not been wandering around for a little while, and the Inner Circle were anxious to see the precious Inferius. 

The Dark Lord raised a wine glass to his lips, his crimson eyes narrowing as they glanced over the sea of his followers. “We’ll see.” he said. “Little One has been asking about you all.” 

The Inner Circle beamed, and Bellatrix’s smile---while still slightly crazy---was far more genuine than usual. “I miss the little tike!” she exclaimed. “I want to give him the tightest hug! Oh Master! When will you allow me to teach him? Little One would look so adorable torturing the idiots of the world!”

The Dark Lord hissed. “Little One will not be used as a weapon.” he snarled, his crimson eyes flashing with fury. The other people at the table flinched back at his tone, but Bellatrix merely pouted. 

“But My Lord,” she whined. “It would be a crime not to fulfill my duty as Auntie Bella and teach the little monster how to make people fear him!” 

“This is why Narcissa watches Little One.” the Dark Lord deadpanned. Had it been a decade earlier, Narcissa would’ve been stunned silent at her Lord’s casual joking tone. Rather, Bella would be writhing in agony on the ground for such a comment. 

“I can’t believe Cissy stole Little One’s favor from me!” Bellatrix cried, sending a mad glare in Narcissa’s direction. 

“Your craziness would scare the poor child,” Rabastian said, a cruel smirk resting on his face. “I’m amazed you’re even allowed near him!” 

“Little One loves me!” Bellatrix cried, scandalized. When no one came to her defense, Bellatrix slumped in her chair with a pout. It was so strange to see Bellatrix acting so… human. Narcissa had long since stopped believing her sister to be anything more than a mindless killing machine. Yet, after a few years around Little One, she acted… she acted more like the child Narcissa had lost to politics and madness. 

The rest of the meal continued with comfortable silence, small bursts of conversation stirring up every now and them, but still relatively quiet. 

When the feast ended, the recruits and the rest of the Death Eaters split up. The families who had come to witness the ceremony now left, and those who remained were the recruits, Inner Circle and a few low ranked Death Eaters. 

They adjourned to a sitting room where the Dark Lord retired to an armchair by the fire, and began to read a book. This was the part of the night where politics would begin. This was when the recruits would have to fend for themselves amongst the elite and prove their worth. 

As the recruits began to get comfortable in the plush seats, Little One walked in. Bellatrix let out a delighted squeal, and Narcissa could tell it was taking all of her restraint not to rush towards him. The recruits were understandably confused, as Little One was a well protected secret among the Death Eaters. 

Little One approached all of the new recruits, a gentle look on his face. It was clear when the recruits realized what Little One was, as they all froze, their eyes wide with horror and shock. Little One either didn’t notice the horror, or didn’t care, as he calmly walked to the first recruit. 

The recruit tensed, waiting for an attack, only to open his eyes wider when Little One handed him a dandelion---the standard greeting flower Little One gave to a new person he met. The recruit took the flower with a trembling hand, his eyes glancing towards the Dark Lord in question. The Dark Lord didn’t even look up from his book. 

The chain continued, Little One offering a flower to each new recruit, and each took it with confusion, but none dared to speak out against it. 

Until one. 

Little One approached the last recruit. He had been watching with a sneer marring his hideous face, and when Little One went to hand him a flower, the recruit refused. The room instantly tensed, the Inner Circle watching with barely concealed fury as the recruit sneered directly in Little One’s face. 

The poor child didn’t even understand. He looked confused, his eyebrows scrunching up as he tried to hand the recruit the flower again. The recruit slapped Little One’s hand away from him, the flower flying to the floor. 

The Inner Circle lost their composure at this, loud gasps reigning around the room at the display. The temperature in the room dropped. The recruit clearly had no idea what he’d done, as he continued to dig his grave. 

“Who's pet dares touch _me_?” he snapped. The recruit leaned down, until he was level with Little One’s face and his sneer seemed almost carved into his face. “An inferius? No wonder it stinks in here. Who does this stupid creature belong to?” 

“Watch yourself!” Narcissa hissed, trying to warn the idiot, but it was too late. The man had signed his death warrant. No one had dared to insult the Inferius before, and certainly not in front of the Dark Lord. There was no possible way the Dark Lord would allow the idiot to live. 

“Is it yours?” the man sneered, taking notice of Narcissa’s scandalized expression and mistaking it for offense. “Why would you stoop so low as to house this _mutt_? What a disgrace! Only a worthless brat would keep such a disgusting creature! Does it even know it’s dead? Can it speak?” the recruit then looked back at Little One and grinned. “Do you hear me? Do you know you’re dead? How did you die, huh? See? He’s too stupid.” 

It was silent for a moment, the horrified faces of the surrounding Death Eaters kept shooting looks between the dead man walking and their Lord, who had yet to interfere. The tense atmosphere was almost crushing, the anticipation of the recruit’s death sitting heavy on the Inner Circle. 

Suddenly a small, child-like voice spoke, startling them into frozen shock once again.

“I did a freaky thing, sir.” Little One spoke, tilting his head up so that he could make direct eye-contact with the recruit. 

Sucked in gasps were heard all around as this was the first time many of them had heard Little One speak. And this was the first time anyone had heard Little One speak English. No one doubted Little One’s intelligence, they knew for a fact that Little One was very smart, but they all assumed that he couldn’t---or wouldn’t speak. Be it from his age (as Inferius retained their intelligence and abilities from their life before they died) that was clearly a toddler who might not have learned to speak before he died, or perhaps the trauma dying had on the poor child’s psyche. Nevertheless, no one expected the Inferius to speak. 

And certainly not with such haunting clarity and horrific words. 

“I broke Aunt Petunia's china and Uncle Vernon was very angry and I had to be punished.” he continued, his emerald eyes hollow and empty, an emotion never before seen on the happy Inferius they knew. “It hurt. I couldn’t breathe. Then it was dark.” 

Then, as if to demonstrate, Little One raised his hands to cover his throat and squeeze---Narcissa’s stomach lurched as she realized that someone had strangled the poor child to death. Someone who, according to Little One, was his own uncle. For doing something _freaky_. Meaning… Magic. Her horror broke through her mask, and she could see everyone else coming to the same conclusion all around her, as they stared at Little One in a new light. 

Little One was a wizard. _Had been_ a wizard. And somehow, his accidental magic caused his abusive Uncle to _murder_ him. Magical children were considered blessings to wizards, as their fertility and birth rates were declining steadily. To be accused of child abuse could destroy anyone, no matter their standing. And to be convicted was an automatic death sentence. Child abuse by itself was barbaric, but to a magical child it could cause an obscurial! Child abuse in wizarding culture was taboo to the highest degree. Narcissa couldn’t even remember the last time an abuse claim had been made, it was nonexistent. The only instances where it occurred were in muggle-born families, and that only further cemented Wizard’s hatred of muggles. 

To find out that Little One, the most beloved of the Inner Circle and pseudo-son of the Dark Lord, was abused and _murdered_ was horrifying. 

It was silent in the room as everyone struggled to process the knowledge they’d just been given. A quick glance around the room showed the Inner Circle in a murderous rage, and Bellatrix was on the verge of a snap. Narcissa could only hope that she snapped after Little One was gone, or she would scare the poor Inferius with her madness. 

Little One didn’t seem to understand the weight of his words. He stood calmly in the same position that he’d been in, the dandelion laying on ground forgotten. His hands had fallen back to his side, and his head was tilted slightly in his usual position of childish curiosity. The only sign of what had just happened, was in the empty look in his eyes. Little One’s usually bright emerald orbs were completely _blank_. It was haunting. 

A loud slam startled everyone once again, and they all turned to see that the Dark Lord had snapped his book shut. Narcissa shivered at the look of unbridled fury in his eyes. This was not the laid back, joking Lord that had been eating dinner with them. This was The Dark Lord Voldemort, destroyer of opposition and leader of Magical Britain---and he was _seething_. 

“Now look what you’ve done.” though his eyes showed nothing but murder, his tone was just as gentle and kind as it always was when he spoke Little One. “You’ve gone and upset yourself, Little One.” 

Little One did not appear to be upset, but she knew that the Dark Lord knew the inferius better than anyone did. The Inferius slowly turned his head so that he could face the Dark Lord, and Narcissa flinched at the emptiness in his eyes. 

“Why don’t you go find Draco and show him those flowers you were telling me about to cheer up?” her Lord continued in that gentle tone, as if he were speaking to an injured animal in a cage. The Dark Lord then turned to look at Narcissa. “Your son returned from Hogwarts for the ceremony, did he not?” 

Narcissa started at being addressed, and quickly regained her bearings. “Yes, My Lord.” she said. “He is with the other children in the back garden.” 

The Dark Lord nodded curtly, his crimson eyes blazing with a homicidal intent that Narcissa had not seen since the war. “Hear that? Run along now, Little One,” he said. He gestured to the giant snake that was resting on the hearth of the fireplace. “Nagini will join you.”

Little One nodded and stood, hissing something to Nagini who eagerly followed the child. Nagini slithered with the Inferius, stopping only to hiss at the horrified recruit. (By this point, the recruit had realized that he’d done something unforgivable and his life was forfeit.) The second he was gone the Dark Lord turned to face the recruit and Narcissa feared for the man. The door clicked shut and the Dark Lord rose gracefully, his eyes flashing a deep red. 

“Now,” he purred, a horrifying rage lacing his words. “I do recall you saying I was a… what was it? Ah yes! A _worthless brat_.” 

The recruit shook his head in petrified horror. “N-No My Lord… I…” 

“Allow me to show you how… _worthless_ I am.” 

The recruit’s screams echoed across the Dark Lord’s castle for weeks on end, a clear warning to the rest of the Dark Lord’s followers. 

And Narcissa did not pity the fool. 

Not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp... some of Little One's past has been revealed... wonder what happens next...?
> 
> _Credit for the fan art goes to the lovely Tinypandagirl!!! Thank you so much for the beautiful art!!! :)_
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** The untouchable written by TreacleTeacups  
> This is a really good tomarry fic where Harry is apathetic. He's adopted by Sirius and it's a story about Harry learning how to do emotions like a regular person. It's a great read!!  
> \---------------  
> Bellatrix: I want to teach Little One had to torture people!  
> Voldemort: HE'S TOO PRECIOUS TO RUIN  
> Voldemort: But you can kill his muggle relatives  
> Bellatrix: *hiding a dismembered hand behind her back*  
> Bellatrix: O-Of course... I haven't _already_ done that... that would just be... crazy...  
> Bellatrix: *attempts to smile innocently*


	9. 8: A Marauder's Reunion

**_-September 26 1991-_**  
It’d been three weeks. It had been three whole weeks since Severus was given the impossible task of retrieving Little One and bringing him to the Order’s headquarters, and Severus had stalled as long as he could. He had devised countless ways that he could avoid the Order’s plans, and none of them worked. The reason as to why?

Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore. 

That barmy old coot knew Severus too well. He should’ve guessed that the old man would find a way to counteract Severus’s Slytherin tendencies. Perhaps the reason he acted senile was so that people would underestimate him in his old age. No matter, because at the end of the day, Severus had no way of keeping Little One safe from the Order with his life and magic intact. 

Because that old bastard pulled on the oath to ensure that Severus brought the child to them.

It made Severus sick, what they wanted to do to the Inferius. Hasn’t Little One suffered enough? Severus shivered, his thoughts instantly heading back to that night all those weeks ago. Severus had been startled just like the rest of them when Little One spoke for the first time. 

But it was the words he spoke that startled him even more. 

The thought that Little One---sweet, gentle, innocent Little One---had been abused… There were no words to describe the feeling that rose up in his gut and the acidic taste of bile in the back of his throat. Severus understood then, why the Dark Lord was so protective of the child. 

Severus supposed if he had a son who had been through what Little One had, he would do whatever it took to keep him safe and sheltered too. 

Little One continued on as if nothing had happened after that. For a few days after the incident, as people had taken to calling it, Little One was not himself. The emptiness in his eyes did not leave for those few days. Everyone could tell that it was worrying the Dark Lord, as he watched Little One with a mixture of apprehension and concern. 

The relief was almost palpable when Little One returned to normal. After three whole days of an empty husk pretending to be their precious Little One, the missed Inferius returned. He practically skipped into the common room and handed everyone five of their respective flowers, as if he were apologizing for not being there. 

The Dark Lord sighed inaudibly in relief and automatically scooped up the little child and held him close. Severus could not, for the life of him, tear his eyes away from the duo. How anyone could think that the Dark Lord would hurt Little One, he could not know. Perhaps if they saw for themselves the amount of love the Dark Lord held for the child, they would understand.

It was a heartwarming scene when Little One pulled away from the embrace to tuck a red Spider Lily behind the Dark Lord’s ear. The Dark Lord only smiled and pressed a kiss to Little One’s temple. The Dark Lord did not remove the flower for the rest of the day, and the next morning he walked in with the Spider Lily in his lapel. 

The Dark Lord wore the flower until it died. 

It made Severus clench his fists in anger when he thought about how he would be taking that away from him. While a good majority of Severus’s hesitance comes from self-preservation, as taking Little One away from the unstable and possessive Dark Lord will inevitably end in disaster, a small part of Severus does not want to take Little One away so that he wouldn’t ruin the happiness they share. 

Severus wished there was a way to stop it from happening, but alas there were none. Severus currently stood in his potions lab, cursing everything around him venomously. 

He had read that there was a ritual that could rupture an Unbreakable Vow in an ancient text, however it was incredibly difficult and required a strong amount of magic to do it. Severus, while incredible at potions and decently powerful, did not have the necessary magic nor skill to complete the ritual. And asking for help would eventually lead knowledge back to the Dark Lord where his life will become forfeit. 

Severus had his hands figuratively tied. 

Severus was just about to begin brewing some Wolfsbane potion that Dumbledore had asked (read: demanded in a polite fashion) him to make when his Dark Mark pulsed with pain. Severus cursed even louder and quickly donned his Death Eater garb and apparated away. 

He landed in the apparition zone and quickly took the side door that led to the Greeting Hall. When he entered, the Dark Lord stood before several masked Death Eaters, already in formation. The Dark Lord was addressing them, and Severus took the cue to stand back and wait for instructions. 

It wasn’t until after the Dark Lord dismissed the group of Death Eaters, that he addressed Severus. 

“Severus.” he said in a welcoming voice. 

“My Lord.” Severus bowed. “How can I be of service to you?” 

“Narcissa is in France for the next two weeks,” the Dark Lord said, gesturing for Severus to walk with him. “As you are the only other one of my followers that I trust to be level-headed and good with children, I ask a favor of you.” 

Severus felt dread lace through his veins. Was he…? 

“My Lord?” Severus asked when they came to a stop outside of the ground level library. The Dark Lord pushed the door open to reveal an adorable sight. Little One was sitting in the coils of a sleeping Nagini, diligently reading children's books. 

“I ask that you watch over Little One while I am away.” the Dark Lord said, looking over Severus with narrowed eyes. “Can you do this?” 

Little One looked up at the sound of his name, and a wide smile crossed the Inferius’s face when he saw Severus. Severus steeled himself and nodded. “Yes My Lord.” 

The Dark Lord nodded curtly. “Good.” he said. He then quickly walked over to where Little One sat, hissed something to him in Parseltongue, and walked away. 

Severus reluctantly made his way into the library. He settled down on the floor, a few good paces away from the slumbering snak. He forced a friendly smile onto his face and tried to act calm. “Hello Little One,” he said. “What are you reading?” 

Little One beamed at him, and Severus tucked the sudden Lily he received into his lapel before Little One all but shoved the book he was reading into his face. Severus chuckled and he looked at the cover. 

“Ah,” he said with a fond smile. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard. A fantastic book.” 

Little One nodded happily and tapped the book and pointed at Severus. It took him a moment to realize what he was asking. “You want me to read it to you?” he asked in surprise. Little One nodded and Severus smiled. “Very well.” 

As Severus lost himself to the mindless task of reading children's stories to Little One, he plotted in the very back of his head. Now would’ve been the perfect opportunity to take Little One. If only the Dark Lord wasn’t holding Severus responsible for the child, he could stun the snake and apparate to Grimmauld with Little One in tow. 

But the Dark Lord personally assigned this task to Severus. If Severus took Little One now, the Dark Lord would instantly know that Severus had done it. No, it was too risky to take him now. Severus would have to wait for another opening. 

And so Severus performed his duty, watching over Little One while the Dark Lord was away. It was an easy task, as the toddler did not fuss. Severus supposed that with the new knowledge of his past, it was understandable that the child would not want to draw attention to himself. It made Severus grit his teeth at the very thought. 

After a few hours, Severus had read the entire book to the child, and he was getting sleepy. Severus watched as the child’s eyes drooped, and Severus took initiative and transfigured a small bed out of some scrap paper. Severus would’ve taken him to his bedroom, but no one was allowed in that wing save for the Dark Lord, Little One and Nagini---and Severus was not keen on testing the wards today. 

Severus then sat comfortably in an armchair to read while Little One slept peacefully on the bed. He alternated between reading his book and glancing at the sleeping Inferius. An hour after Little One had popped off to sleep, the library door opened and the Dark Lord entered. 

He gave one fond look at the sleeping Inferius before he motioned for Severus to follow him. Severus sat his book down and silently followed the Dark Lord out of the room. Severus followed the Dark Lord to his private study. 

“Thank you, Severus,” the Dark Lord said as he sat down behind his massive desk. “I appreciate your help. The raid was quite sudden, intel on the Order had just come in and the matter was too time sensitive for me to call Narcissa here in time.” 

“It was my honor, My Lord,” Severus said. The Dark Lord hummed absently. 

“How was he?” he asked. “No problems?”

“None, My Lord,” Severus said. “He fell asleep only an hour or so ago.” 

The Dark Lord nodded. “I still have quite a bit of paperwork left to do, and it is getting quite late.” he said. “Why don’t you go home? Little One can stay in the library for half an hour or so while I finish.” 

Severus nodded. “Thank you, My Lord.” 

The Dark Lord merely nodded before he gestured at the door. Severus took his leave, shutting the door to the Dark Lord’s study completely. He was just on his way to the apparition one, when something tugged on his robed. Severus looked down to see a sleepy Little One holding on to his robes curiously. 

Suddenly, Severus knew. 

“Do…” he paused, licked his lips and resigned himself to what he was about to do. “Do you want me to take you to the Dark Lord?” 

Little One nodded slowly, and Severus could see the haze from sleep had not fully worn off yet. The toddler was not fully awake. 

“I… I can take you to him…” Severus said, leaning down to lift the toddler into his arms. Little One fit into his arms perfectly, and he rested his head on Severus’s shoulder passively. Severus silently disillusioned himself and walked briskly to the apparition zone. 

This was it. 

He was about to kidnap the Dark Lord’s son. 

“This will be slightly unpleasant,” Severus whispered softly, Little One lifted his head to look at Severus questioningly. “But it will only be a moment. The Dark Lord asked me to take you somewhere safe for a few days, then you will see him. Do you understand?”

Little One bit his lip and his eyes narrowed for a second before he decided that trusting Severus was the right way to go. He nodded and Severus felt a small amount of relief course through him. He would come willingly, which made his job that much easier. 

“All right, hang on tight.” 

Severus gave one last look to the apparition zone inside the Dark Lord’s castle and sighed. _Merlin save us all_. 

He apparated away. 

* * *

He landed in Grimmauld Place and startled several people in the kitchen. 

“Severus what are you---” Molly cut herself off when she saw what was in Severus’s arms. Her eyes widened before she pursed her lips. “I’ll call everyone immediately.” 

Severus nodded curtly before he gently set Little One on the ground. The only other two people in the room were Arthur Weasely and Nymphadora Tonks. They watched wide-eyed as Severus knelt down to eye-level with the Inferius. 

“Welcome Little One,” he said gently. “I’m going to introduce you to some new friends. They’re going to be watching you until the Dark Lord can take care of you again, is that okay?” 

Little One’s eyes brightened at the prospect of new friends, and Severus could only feel mildly guilty about using Little One’s naivety and friendliness against him. 

“Is that him?” a gruff voice called. Severus looked up to see the rest of the Order looking at Little One with apprehension. Severus nodded. 

“Little One, these are your new friends I was telling you about,” Severus said, his dark eyes glaring at everyone. Everyone quickly understood what was going on, as they smiled and waved at Little One. Little One smiled bashfully at them, and instantly Molly was hooked. 

“Well aren’t you just a dear!” she cried. “Hello, darling. I’m Molly Weasely. Nice to meet you.” 

Little One grinned and quickly dug into his ever present bag. The Order tensed as they expected something dangerous to be pulled out, but Severus shook his head subtly. Little One pulled his hand out and handed Molly a small Peony. 

Molly took it and looked at Severus with a questioning look. “Little One hands out flowers as a greeting,” Severus explained. “It’s specific to each person he meets.” 

Tonks cooed at that and quickly reached down to ruffle Little One’s hair. “Hi there, cutie!” she cried. “I’m Tonks! And you are adorable!” Tonks squealed when she was given a giant sunflower and changed her hair to match the color. Little One’s eyes widened and he giggled silently at the sight. 

Moody stepped forward then, his magical eye appraising the child wearily. Little One, to his credit, took it with a smile. He waved shyly at the peg-leg before he handed him a stalk of Lilac. Moody took it as if he didn’t know what to do with it. 

“You were right about one thing, Snape,” he said, turning to face Severus. “He was made correctly. Doesn’t even look dead. ‘Cept for those stitches.” 

Little One continued down the line of Order members, and Severus could see as the rest of the Order eyed the stitches that ran up his neck curiously. Severus quickly gestured at the other Order members, hoping to finish the introductions as swiftly as possible. 

Just as Severus was getting ready to introduce Little One to the menace mutt, a small gasp escaped Little One’s lips. Little One had stopped directly in front of Black. The people in the room started, looking at the inferius in shock.

“Severus? What’s he doing? Does he always do that?” Kinglsey asked, his grip on the Orchid he received tightening ever so slightly. Little One stood in place, not moving away from his position in front of the mongrel. 

“No, Little One rarely makes any noise…” Severus looked down at the frozen inferius with concern. “Little One? Are you okay---” 

“Padfoot?” Little One breathed out, titling his head so his shaggy hair moved out of the way of his emerald eyes. 

Everyone in the room was frozen, and Sirius let out a punched out gasp. Remus gripped Sirius’ arm tight. No one in the room dared so much as to breathe as the exchange continued. This was the first time anyone had gotten a good look at the Inferius’s face, and now they were finally seeing the whole thing. 

His face was pale with shaggy black hair, and his facial structure was startling familiar to someone lost many years ago. But even more startling was the emerald eyes that they’d seen so many times on a red-headed girl. 

Remus moved to stand closer to Sirius, his eyes widened as he breathed in deeply. His eyes flashed gold and his mouth dropped. “It… It can’t be…” 

Little One looked at him. “Moony?” he asked. 

Sirius all but collapsed to the ground, a trembling hand sticking out. “ _H-Harry_?” he choked out, his eyes wide. Severus sucked in a startled breath and the rest of the Order members looked at the toddler in disbelief. “Harry… Harry is that y-you?”

Little One giggled and hugged Black’s trembling form. “Uncle Paddy! Uncle Moony! You found me!”

Severus swayed and his hand instantly reached out to grip the wall for support. Little One was… 

“ _Harry Potter_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO BOY! Now we're getting somewhere!!!!!
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Big Bad World written by Giggles96  
> This is actually a Sherlock fic, but if you like my story then you'll _love_ this story. Sherlock gets deaged and is then adopted by Moriarty... who suddenly has feelings??? It's SOOOOO GOOD!!! You should totally check it out!!  
> \-------------------  
> Sirius: My godsons ALIVE!!!  
> Moody: Not really...  
> Remus: Just leave it  
> Remus: He'll remember eventually


	10. 9: In Which a Dark Lord Rages

**_-September 26 1991-_**  
Sirius still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or having a nightmare. Having his godson returned to him was all he’d ever dreamed about, but having him returned as an Inferius… that was never a part of it. One hand was clenched tightly around a stalk of Forget-Me-Nots (the irony of the flower was not lost on him) and the other held Harry to his chest. He was sitting around the massive table in the kitchen that doubled as a meeting space for the Order, and everyone was silent. 

They were all staring at Harry with a mixture of emotions, too many for Sirius to decipher. Everyone had grieved the loss of James and Lily, as they were all close friends, but none had grieved like Sirius and Remus did. And when Sirius had returned to the Order, his eyes empty and dried tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, they had all frozen. They’d been in the process of making a welcome party for little Harry when Sirius told them that Harry was gone. 

To see Harry alive… sort of… it was a shock to everyone’s system. 

Harry didn’t seem to understand that, though. He sat contently in Sirius’s lap, playing with the fingers holding his midsection protectively. He seemed incredibly happy for a toddler who died. Sirius’s grip tightened ever so slightly at the thought. 

“Snape.” Sirius suddenly said, breaking the silence. The bat looked at him with a sneer, but Sirius persevered. “What do you know about him?” 

Snape sighed. “Not much.” he answered, and Sirius scowled. 

“My boy, I believe whatever information you have would be beneficial,” Dumbledore said, clearly sensing that Sirius was two seconds away from ripping his face off. “Please, my dear boy, share what you have.” 

“What do you want to know?” Snape asked, looking at Sirius with barely concealed disgust. 

“How did he get Harry?” Sirius asked. That was one of the questions that had been weighing on his mind since Harry was returned. That and… “How did he die?” he added as an afterthought. 

Snape looked as though he sucked on a lemon. “I do not know how the Dark Lord got Harry, nor do I know why,” he said. He then paused. “As for how he died…” 

“You know how he died?” Sirius demanded, his heart beginning to beat faster. Snape narrowed his eyes and nodded slightly. “Tell us!” 

“There was… an incident.” Snape said slowly. 

Sirius glared at him and bit out through gritted teeth, “What _kind_ of incident?” 

“Little One---”

“Harry.” 

“ _Little One_ was being introduced to new recruits,” Snape said, ignoring Sirius’s hiss. “One of the recruits had a death wish and insulted him in front of the Dark Lord. He asked if Little One was aware that he was dead.” 

“And?” Remus asked, leaning forward slightly. Snape sighed, and the answer clearly made him weary. It put Sirius on edge, seeing the old dungeon bat so uneasy. “What happened?” 

“Little One informed the recruit, and the rest of the people in the room, that he did know,” Snape said, his dark eyes finding Harry’s form. He smiled softly at the child in Sirius’s lap, and it made Sirius clench his jaw and hold Harry tighter. “He explained that he… He was punished for doing magic and his Uncle strangled him to death.” 

It was dead silent in the room as everyone’s horrified gazes switched between Snape and the oblivious Harry. 

“You. Son. Of. A. _Bitch_!” Sirius shouted suddenly, snapping his head to glare venomously at Dumbledore who sat stricken at the head of the table. Sirius felt Harry flinch in his hold, and instantly he felt guilty for scaring the child. 

Then he remembered that Harry was dead and his rage returned tenfold. He quickly handed Harry to Remus and stood, slamming his hands on the table. 

“You swore he was safe!” he spat. “You said he was happy there! You bloody bastard! How could you?! Did you even check on him?!” 

Dumbledore’s eyes had lost the twinkle, and he was staring at Harry with sad eyes instead. His posture was defeated as he slouched into his chair. “Sirius I swear I had no idea…” 

“Did you even visit him _once_?” Sirius demanded. 

“I did not.” Dumbledore said, his eyes falling to the floor in shame. Sirius growled, his hands clenching in rage. “I’m so sorry, my boy. So, so sorry.” 

“You… You…” Sirius was so angry he couldn’t even verbalize it. He sputtered, his rage overtaking him as he stood there. He suddenly whipped out his wand, pointing it at the old man sitting across from him. 

“Sirius, no!” Remus cried, grabbing his arm and pulling it down. 

“He’s the reason! It’s his fault that Harry’s dead!” Sirius shouted. “I’m gonna kill him! How could you?! We trusted you!!” 

“Sirius, you need to calm down.” Remus said firmly. Sirius turned to look at his lover incredulously, only to stop at the sight of him. Harry was held in his arms like a baby, his head resting on his shoulder as he played absentmindedly with Remus’s hair. It would be adorable if it weren’t for the fact that Remus was having trouble controlling his wolf. His eyes flashed from brown to gold over and over as Remus struggled to calm down. 

“Remus he…” 

“I know,” he said firmly. “I know. But listen to me, cursing Dumbledore will solve nothing. Do you understand? We need to go about this level-headed. So calm down and get a hold of yourself, Sirius Black.” 

Sirius nodded, and he slowly lowered his arm, and regretfully pocketed his wand. Suddenly all of his rage left him, and Sirius collapsed into his chair with an age-old weariness. Grief filled his veins as he looked at Harry once more. 

His precious godson was abused and murdered. His Harry. He slouched in his chair as the emotions overtook him. He made a small gesture and Remus wordlessly handed Harry back to him, and Sirius buried his face in Harry’s curls. 

It was silent once more as everyone in the room attempted to process what they’d just learned. The only noise came from Remus’s growls as he gained control of his wolf once more. A few minutes passed before Sirius felt like he had enough control to face everyone again. 

When he looked up, he was greeted with the sight of a melancholy Order and a guilty Dumbledore. Sirius sucked in a deep breath before he turned to look at Snape. 

“How did you not recognize him?” he asked. Snape looked up at being addressed and sneered at him. 

“I never saw Harry Potter while he was alive,” he responded. “Other than his eyes, I saw no likeness to your friends.” 

“He looks just like James,” Sirius argued. “I mean, look at his hair!” 

“Little One is not James Potter.” Snape snapped. Sirius hissed at him but was stopped when Snape bent over in pain. 

“What’s happening?” Remus asked, looking at Snape in concern and confusion. Snape hissed. 

“He’s found out Little One is gone!” Snape cried out, gasping through the agony. “He is calling me!”

Dumbledore stood, his previously heavy eyes were hard with determination. “Go to him, Severus,” he said. “Do what you need to and then return. We are going to do everything we can to save Harry Potter.” 

Sirius nodded gratefully, and his eyes fell down to the child he held. He felt love rush through him at the sight of the toddler playing with his long hair. Sirius had lost him once. 

He wouldn’t lose him again. 

* * *

Voldemort had finally finished the last of his paperwork. It had taken longer than he thought it would, and he was eager to go to the library and get Little One. He had no doubt that the child was still sleeping, but the last thing Voldemort wanted was for his precious to sleep on a transfigured bed. 

Voldemort stood and gracefully walked down the hall to the library. He entered and paused when he saw that it was empty. Voldemort knew that Nagini had left to hunt, as she didn’t like leaving Little One when he was awake, so it was a little strange for Little One to not be there. However, it wouldn’t be the first time that Little One had woken up and wandered off to his own room. 

Voldemort quickly ascended the stairs that led to his personal wing and opened the wooden door that led to his child’s room. He frowned, his crimson eyes shining with confusion when he saw that Little One wasn’t there either. He quickly walked into his own room, expecting to find the Inferius snuggled up on his bed, only to face empty sheets. 

At this point, panic set it. Voldemort quickly called for Nagini, his heart beat rising ever so slightly. He did not like not knowing where his child was. 

“ _Master_?” Nagini asked, slithering into the room. 

“ _Where is Little One_?” he hissed. Nagini seemed to be confused. 

“ _He is asleep in the book room, Master_.” she replied. Voldemort snarled, his magic flaring out in a rage and knocking over several books in his room. They landed on the floor with a loud thud. 

“ _He is missing_ ,” he hissed out. “ _Find him_.” 

Nagini hissed and slithered away as quickly as she could. Voldemort clenched his hands as he fought to regain control of himself. Little One wasn’t gone. This wasn’t the first time Little One wandered around the castle without his knowledge. There was no need to worry. Little One was safe and protected in the Castle. 

Voldemort gracefully swept out of his room, walking into the common room with dignity. His eyes swept over the room and he felt his nerves spike when he saw they were lacking a certain green-eyed Inferius. He then slammed the doors to the outdoor gardens open. 

“Little One, come.” he spoke clearly. It was dead silent outside, and the sun had already set. His voice rang out clearly across the silent gardens. It didn’t make sense. Little One only went to a select few places in the Castle, and he wasn’t at any of them. 

He stood patiently on the threshold of the door as he waited for his child to return to him. After five minutes, it was obvious that Little One wasn’t outside. Little One would’ve had no trouble hearing Voldemort, and he never ignored a summons. 

Voldemort hissed and stalked back inside where he was greeted by his frantic familiar. “ _Master_!” she cried. “ _Little One’s scent is gone! He is not in the Castle_!” 

This time, there was no controlling the destructive magic that sprang free from him. The common room was rendered a destroyed mess. The furniture was nothing rubble and even after all that, his magic still stalked and destroyed anything too close to him. 

Little One was… gone? 

How could this be possible? Little One couldn’t leave, and the wards would have alerted him if Little One wandered too close to the edge of his property. Besides that, Little One preferred to stay close to the Castle where Voldemort was. He was too shy to try and leave, he didn’t like leaving the safety of his home. So how…? 

Voldemort’s eyes flashed with murderous rage and he hissed. “Someone took him!” he seethed, and he shot out more destructive magic. Sending the already destroyed common room up in flames did nothing to soothe his anger. 

“Who dared to take what is _mine_?!” he snarled. He paced angrily, his hands coming to tug on his chestnut hair as he rambled. “I will kill them! Torture them until they beg for death! If they so much as touch a hair on his head so help me I’ll…” 

Nagini coiled in on herself in order to avoid Voldemort’s rage-filled pacing. He walked with no purpose as he seethed. The feeling of anger was overwhelming, but even that was not enough to stop the feeling of helplessness from rising up inside his chest. 

Little One was gone. 

Someone had stolen his most precious from him directly under his nose! How dare they! And poor Little One! He must be so scared and confused without Voldemort there to protect him! Voldemort’s jaw clenched as an image of Little One’s eyes wide with tears and confusion flashed in his mind. 

“My poor darling,” Voldemort cried, and the rage filled him once more. “I’m going to find you! I made you a promise and I won’t break it!” 

And Voldemort meant it. That promise… all those years ago… 

Back when Voldemort was too late. Back when Voldemort experienced true grief, true loss for the first time in his life. Back when Voldemort refused and he truly conquered death for the first time. Back when he held his most precious tight to his chest, the magic still fresh in the air as he brought him back. When he had spoke with determination. 

“I will never let them hurt you,” Voldemort had said firmly, holding the newly created inferius close to his chest. His little one had snuggled closer into his chest and his hands clenched around his robes. “You’re going to be safe now. I promise.” 

“Never gonna leave?” Harry---no. Little One, a new name for his brave and beautiful child, had asked, fear clouding his _Avada_ green eyes. A stirring pang had hit deep inside his gut, and Voldemort uttered the promise that had dictated his life ever since. 

“ _Never_.” he had said. And he meant that with all of his cold, deadened heart. Nothing would take his Little One from him. And anyone who tried would promptly regret it for their short, agonizing life. 

Yet here Voldemort stood, the wreckage of his once beautiful common room still smoldering around him, devoid of his most precious treasure. 

He had broken his promise and Voldemort could do nothing but make a new one. 

“I swear,” he hissed, looking at the sky. “That I will find you, Little One. I will not rest until you have been brought home.” 

He looked down and magically fixed the common room, as if it were never destroyed in the first place. Nagini uncoiled herself, sensing that her Master’s destructive phase had passed, and slithered over to him. Voldemort’s crimson eyes flashed with determination and murderous glee. 

“I will not rest until I make those that took you from me _scream_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of advice if you care about your overall life, happiness and sanity; Don't take Little One away from the Dark Lord.  
> (Too bad the Order didn't get the memo)  
> Wonder how this is going to end...? Certainly not with the destruction of all Magical Britain... 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Carpe Omnia written by Noctem31  
> I just read this and it's incredibly good, you guys, oh my gosh! Harry is Voldemort and Bellatrix's son and it's soo cute. Light and Dumbledore bashing but also really good father-son relationship. You should totally check it out!!  
> \----------------------------  
> Voldemort: My poor BB :'(  
> Voldemort: I can't imagine what tortures he must be going through right now!  
> *Meanwhile at Order's headquarters*  
> Sirius: Do you think he wants applesauce or mashed carrots?  
> Remus: He's not a newborn! Sheesh Siri  
> Sirius: ...  
> Remus: Give him the applesauce


	11. 10: Guilty Marigolds Part I

**_-September 26 1991-_**  
Sirius sat at the table, his gaze unfocused. Remus had taken Harry off somewhere while the Order continued to argue. After Snivellus’s abrupt departure, it was clear no one knew how to proceed. Dumbledore was still silent, his eyes shining with guilt, and Moody had taken it upon himself to start barking orders. 

“We kill him!” Moody said, slamming his hand on the table. “It’s obvious! We get rid of the Dark Lord’s weakness then we defeat him!” 

“Alastor he’d just a boy---” Molly argued. 

“He’s _dead _\---”__

__“No, he’s not.” Sirius said, blinking away the emotions rising up inside of him, forcing himself to pay attention to the conversation. They were discussing Harry after all, and it was Sirius’s job to protect him. And he wouldn’t fail this time._ _

__Moody narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get soft on this, Black!” he barked. “I know that he’s James’s boy but---”_ _

__“Harry is still alive!” Sirius snapped. “So what! He’s an Inferius! So what? Did you see him? Look at you! You’ve got a bloody flower in your hand! You think he’s dangerous?!”_ _

__Moody blanched and subtly set the Lilac onto the table before he coughed. When he looked back at Sirius he actually looked apologetic, a rare sight for the burly retired auror. “Constant vigilance.” he said softly._ _

__“He’s _four years old_!!!” Sirius cried out. “What harm can he do?!” _ _

__“He’s an inferius, Black. You know as well as I how deadly those things could be.” Moody replied gruffly. Sirius hissed._ _

__“Watch yourself!” he snapped. “That’s my godson you’re talking about.”_ _

__Moody sighed. “We need to be careful. Now more than ever.”_ _

__“Harry wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Sirius insisted. “He’s just a baby. And as long as he is in this house, he will _not_ be harmed. Do you understand?” _ _

__Moody grit his teeth before he opened his mouth, probably to spew more hateful words, when Dumbledore finally found his voice. He looked up at the group and spoke calmly. “Sirius is correct.” he said. Moody sputtered but Dumbledore held his hand up to silence him. “We will not harm the child while he is here. We brought him here in the hopes that we would weaken Tom, but instead we have rescued one of our own.”_ _

__Sirius nodded. “I have not forgiven you for what you’ve done,” he said, staring at Dumbledore. “But I thank you for agreeing with me.”_ _

__Albus nodded his head sadly. “I can only hope to atone for my mistakes, dear boy.”_ _

__Sirius shifted uncomfortably before he nodded. He then turned his attention back to the rest of the group. “Okay,” he said. “Order meetings over. Go away. I have a godson to get to know.”_ _

__

____

____

* * *

_  
_

____

__

__**_-September 28 1991-_**  
It had been two days, and no progress had been made. Sirius sighed and shifted ever so slightly, shaking Harry from his sleep. The Inferius looked up at Sirius, his green eyes wide with unspoken questions. The child hadn’t spoken since the first day, and all attempts on Sirius’s part had been unsuccessful. _ _

__The rest of the Order had come and gone randomly, each coming to check in on Sirius and Remus. Molly had taken an automatic liking to Harry, but that wasn’t very surprising as Molly’s maternal side was legendary. She spent hours talking to the child, not caring that he didn’t respond, and when she left she told Sirius that he was just the cutest child she’d ever seen._ _

__After the first day, though, Sirius noticed that Harry was pulling back. At first he’d been very open with the Order members, handing them flowers and smiling at them when they were near, but after almost two days, he was acting completely different._ _

__He avoided everyone who wasn’t Remus or Sirius, and seemed to be getting completely confused. He looked around, almost as if he were searching for something, and when he didn’t find it, he would just shrink in on himself. It was very strange and worrying._ _

__Sirius was brought out of his thought when a hand hesitantly tugged on his black locks. He looked down to see Harry fascinated with his hair, and Sirius couldn’t help but chuckle. Even though Harry is eleven years old, his mind and body is still that of a toddler. While Sirius was sad that he would never get to see Harry grow up, being able to see Harry happy and alive (sort of) was more than enough for him._ _

__Sirius lifted his head when the floo flared to life, and several Order members stepped through. Sirius felt Harry stiffen in his lap, and he quickly looked down in concern. This was the first time that Harry had responded to them like that, and it set him on edge._ _

__“Has he said anything?” Moody barked, causing Harry to shrink back further. Sirius glared._ _

__“No he hasn’t,” he said. “And you’re scaring him, so kindly bugger off.”_ _

__“Sirius!” Molly cried, aghast. “There is a child present!”_ _

__Sirius chuckled mischievously. “He won’t repeat it.” Molly scoffed and rolled her eyes at his antics._ _

__“Honestly.” she muttered to herself, causing Sirius to let out a full-bellied laugh that shook Harry._ _

__Dumbledore stepped through the floo at last, and Sirius couldn’t help but snicker at the sight he made. Harry had barged into a meeting the last night he’d been there without a care, not noticing the way everyone had stopped talking, and crawled into Dumbledore’s lap. Dumbledore had been so shocked he stopped his instructions for how to keep Harry out of the Dark Lord’s clutches while Harry stuck dozens of marigolds into his beard._ _

__They were still tangled in his beard, and that, added onto his ridiculous robes, made the old man look laughable. Dumbledore smiled fondly at Harry, probably expecting the child to smile back and give him a hug---as he’d done before---and frowned when he saw the way Harry looked away from them._ _

__“Is something wrong, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked, looking at him in concern. “Harry is acting rather odd.”_ _

__“You noticed too, eh?” Sirius asked. “I’m not sure. This could be normal behavior for him… I mean, he’s only been here for a few days…”_ _

__“And Severus has not yet returned from the Dark Lord,” Albus said softly. “I fear we will just have to leave it until he comes back. We have no way of knowing how Harry usually acts.”_ _

__Sirius grit his teeth at the thought. He didn’t need Snivellus to tell him how to care for his godson. He was still pissed that the old bat hadn’t told them about Harry immediately. All this time when they were fumbling around for the Dark Lord’s weakness, they could’ve been with Harry._ _

__“Have you any news?” Sirius asked, forcing himself to change thoughts, lest his wreck something._ _

__“I’m afraid not, my boy,” Albus said sadly. “Voldemort had made no moves.”_ _

__Everyone reflexively flinched at the name, but Harry let out a gasp. Automatically, Sirius’s grip on him tightened, his eyes darting around for danger. But there was none. Yet, Harry squirmed in his lap, more active than he’d been in a while, and looked up at Dumbledore pleadingly._ _

__“I see Papa now?” he asked, his voice soft and quiet, but there was no mistaking his words._ _

__Sirius sucked in a sharp breath and looked at Harry in shock. The rest of the Order stared at him dumbly, while Harry only looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore visibly steeled himself before he responded to the hopeful inferius._ _

__“Not today, my boy.” he said. Harry slumped against Sirius, and sniffled. Sirius’s chest clenched at the sad whimpers escaping his godson._ _

__“Miss Papa.” he whined._ _

__“I’m sorry, child.” Dumbledore said remorsefully. Sirius knew that he was serious in his apology, but he also knew that he wasn’t apologizing because Harry couldn’t see the Dark Lord. Harry squirmed even more in Sirius’s lap._ _

__“See Papa soon?” he asked. Sirius wished that he could be happy. This was the most that Harry had spoken to anyone, and yet all Sirius felt was rage. And an underlying ocean of sadness and grief._ _

__“I’m sure you will.” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes missing their usual twinkle._ _

__But he could see in everyone’s eyes, that unspoken terror that passed through them. Harry was a lot closer to the Dark Lord than everyone realized. They had assumed they were saving an innocent child from an evil dark lord, when in fact… they’d (loathe as Sirius was to admit it) kidnapped a child from their father._ _

__Even if Sirius were to reveal Harry’s true parentage, Harry was just a child. A toddler. He wouldn’t be able to grasp the gravity of the situation. All he’d see was a bunch of kidnappers trying to change how he saw his father._ _

__Sirius felt sick._ _

__And as Harry continued to amuse himself with Sirius’s hair, albeit sadly now, Sirius resigned himself to the knowledge that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how close he got, Voldemort got him first._ _

__And there was nothing he could do to change that._ _

__

____

____

* * *

_  
_

____

__

__**_Hogwarts Castle  
Seven hours earlier_ ** _ _

__Draco looked up from the letter in shock, his proud Malfoy Mask slipping entirely in front of his friends, house-mates and teachers in the middle of the Great Hall. Luckily for him, no one was really paying attention. Save for, of course, his best friends._ _

__Pansy, Theo and Blaise looked at him in concern, and Pansy eyed the letter with confusion. “Draco?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s the matter?”_ _

__Draco leaned in, his hands trembling as he folded the letter. “He’s gone.”_ _

__“What’s that?” Blaise asked. “Who’s gone?”_ _

__“Little One.”_ _

__It was silent amongst the four---Draco sitting in sullen shock while the trio looked at him with disbelief. Finally Theo snorted. “You’re joking, right?” he asked. Draco swallowed dryly and shook his head._ _

__“You can’t be serious!” Blaise cried, making sure to mind his volume._ _

__“Yeah! I mean, come on! Who in their right mind would take him?” Pansy asked. “Do they have a death wish?”_ _

__Draco shrugged. “I don’t know…” he said. “All I know is the Dark Lord is on a rampage. Mother says that he’s acting like he did before.”_ _

__His friends shifted uncomfortably at that. It was no secret that Little One had changed their Lord for the better. Made him more human. Before Little One, any kind of mistake would lead to hours of torture---if you’re lucky---or death---if you’re unlucky. If Little One was truly gone… Draco shuddered at the thought of the mere destruction the Dark Lord would cause._ _

__“Do you think he’s scared?” Pansy asked softly, and instantly Draco knew they weren’t talking about the Dark Lord anymore._ _

__Draco’s jaw clenched at the thought of Little One being afraid. They weren’t stupid. They’d heard the rumors circulating through the lower ranks about how Little One died (was killed, Draco thought with a twist of his stomach) and the thought of the innocent child going through any more fear filled Draco with such righteous anger._ _

__“They’re going to pay.” Draco said firmly. And he knew he was right. After all, there was a reason why everyone feared the Dark Lord. Perhaps a decade of peace had caused people to grow confident, to doubt him._ _

__They wouldn’t be doubting the Dark Lord much longer._ _

__They continued to eat their breakfast in depressed silence, all thoughts being occupied by Little One and the horrid situation they found themselves in. Suddenly, Pansy let out a choked cry. Draco snapped his head up, intent on asking her what the problem was, when he let out a sharp gasp._ _

__Dumbledore had arrived._ _

__And he had Marigolds in his beard._ _

__“It appears we’re going to have a new Headmaster soon,” Draco said, his eyebrows pinched together. “It appears I am looking at a dead man standing.”_ _

__Those flowers came from Little One._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... Wonder what's gonna happen now... 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** The Unwanted One written by Amyria  
> So this one is a severitus where Severus is kind of a jerk to Harry at first, and basically tells Harry he doesn't want him. There's a lot angst (TW for Child abuse, from the Dursleys) but it get's better and this is one of my favorite father redemption arcs! You should totally check it out!!!  
> \----------------------  
> Draco: So...  
> Draco: Who do you think is gonna be the new Headmaster?


	12. 11: Guilty Marigolds Part II

**_-September 29 1991-_**  
Draco can’t wait to write a letter to his father. No doubt, the Inner Circle was panicking at the loss of Little One, and Draco was excited to be of help. He finished his breakfast quickly, risking quick glances at the Head Table where Dumbledore sat eating porridge. The old man seemed to be entirely unaware of what he’d done, and Draco was grateful for it. The last thing he wanted was for the man to get paranoid and move Little One. 

He rushed to his dorm as soon as breakfast was over, happy that he had another hour before classes start. Pansy had gone off to the library to study, while Blaise and Theo followed him into their room. 

_Father  
I believe that Dumbledore has Little One. He was in possession of Little One’s flowers.  
Best wishes,  
Draco_

Draco hummed as he sealed the letter. It was short and to the point, which was what was needed. He stood up, brushing the nonexistent dust off his robes, and walked briskly to the owlery. He handed the letter to his owl, a majestic eagle owl that he named Helios, and directed it to Malfoy Manor. 

Hopefully, his father received his letter and knew what to do. 

Draco arrived in the Slytherin common room to see his friends huddled in a group by the fireplace. Draco smiled at them and sat down next to Theo. Theo shifted over slightly, allowing Draco more room on the couch. 

“Did you send the letter?” Pansy asked, leaning forward slightly. Draco was slightly surprised that she was back in the common room already, but he supposed that studying didn’t take that long. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Father will know what to do. I just hope he’s okay.” 

Pansy shifted, pulling a book that he hadn’t noticed before out of her bag. She placed it on the coffee table and grinned. The title read, ‘ _Dark Creatures and their Behavior_ ’. Draco frowned slightly. “I got this in the library.” she said. 

“What for?” Draco asked. Pansy huffed and opened the book, flipping through several pages before she landed on the one she had been looking for. Draco’s eyebrow raised at the pictures of inferi on the page. 

“I wanted to do some research,” she said. “On Little One. And how he’ll react.” 

“React to what?” asked Theo, bowing his head to look at the book better. 

“To being separated from the Dark Lord.” Pansy said, as though the answer were obvious. At the sight of the blank looks on everyone’s face, she sighed. “Little One isn’t alive---”

“Astute observation.” Blaise drawled. Pansy glared. 

“---but he acts like he is. Haven’t you ever wondered how?” Pansy asked. Draco scoffed. 

“The ritual. Obviously.” he said. “It brings dead things back to life.” 

“But Little One isn’t alive.” Pansy pointed out, making Draco pause. She smirked. “Little One _isn’t_ alive but he’s not dead either. He’s in between. _That’s_ what the ritual does.” 

“I don’t understand.” Theo sighed. 

“Little One died, but he didn’t _die_.” Pansy said. Blaise huffed. 

“Okay, can you explain it to us commoners, please?” he snarked. “Obviously you know something we don’t, so if you’re in the sharing mood…” 

“What’s neither dead or alive?” Pansy asked. It was silent for a few seconds before Draco gasped. 

“Magic.” he cried, his eyes wide with shock. Pansy smiled victoriously.

“Exactly!” Pansy cried. “Little One is magic. Everything about him. It’s what animates him, gives him his sanity. Everything that makes Little One _Little One_ is magic.” 

“But we already knew that,” Theo interjected. “Little One was made from magic. I don’t get what the big deal is.” 

“Theo, only a very powerful wizard can create a successful Inferius. Do you know why?” Pansy asked. Theo frowned and shrugged. 

“Because it takes a lot of power?” he asked. 

“Close,” Pansy said. “It does take a lot of power to create the ritual, true. But it also requires a lot of magic to continue.” 

“Wait, what?” Blaise asked, sitting up in his chair. 

“If an Inferius isn’t revitalized with magic constantly, it deteriorates. That’s why everyone is afraid of them, and that’s why they attack wizards.” Pansy explains. “It needs magic to stay… well, not alive, but you know what I mean.” 

“No wonder no one makes Inferi anymore!” Draco cried. “Can you imagine? Constantly putting magic into a creature, just to keep it sane!” 

“That’s exactly why it’s uncommon,” Pansy said. “If you’re not powerful enough, you could lose all your magic trying to stabilize it. And that’s only if you don’t lose all your magic doing the ritual _first_.” 

“So you’re saying that… the longer Little One is away from the Dark Lord… the faster he’s gonna…” Theo trailed off, his face pinched up in horror at the thought of Little One deteriorating. It was silent for a while as everyone considered it.

“Well, we don’t know that for sure.” Pansy said finally, breaking the pensive silence. “That’s just a theory from the book. Besides, Little One hasn’t changed and he’s been around for years…” 

“But he’s never been away from the Dark Lord before,” Blaise pointed out. “Anything could happen.”

“I doubt the Dark Lord didn’t make contingency plans.” Draco cut in. “He’s very thorough. I’m sure he came up with a plan to protect Little One just in case.” 

“Yeah…” Pansy said softly, looking down at the book once more. 

It was silent again, the only noise coming from the conversing students around them, and the cracking of the fire in front of them. Pansy had placed the book back into her bag, and the group sat tensely until it was time to go to classes. 

And as Draco got ready for charms, all he could think about was Little One and hoping that the Dark Lord wouldn’t let anything happen to him. 

Draco didn’t know if he could survive losing his little brother. 

* * *

Voldemort hated this feeling. 

It was… It was… 

Voldemort snarled and threw his glass of firewhiskey into the wall. It shattered into tiny bits, and Voldemort wished that he could feel satisfaction in the destruction. But he couldn’t. It had been many years since Voldemort felt this on edge. 

Like his sanity was slipping from him. 

It had only been two days since Little One was taken from him, yet Voldemort felt his loss like he’d been gone for years. Voldemort did not like feeling so weak. His rage and grief were the only emotions he could feel now, and they were always fighting to be on top. 

Nagini had coiled around herself tightly, not once moving from her spot by the fireplace. She’d been feeling the loss too, Voldemort could tell, but there wasn’t enough room in Voldemort’s head to feel sympathy for her. 

The anger and grief were too strong. 

After Voldemort had destroyed, then fixed, the common area of his castle, he called his Inner Circle to him. They took one look at his enraged face and bowed deeply before him. When Voldemort informed them that Little One had been stolen, their faces mirrored his own. 

They’d been sent out to find him. Traces of him, reports of him. Anything. All the while, Voldemort sat in his study, unable to function. 

He hadn’t felt so out of control in many years. Not since he first found Little One. Little One, even while he was alive, had soothed Voldemort’s rough edges. The happy toddler sitting on the swing, the bruise on his face contrasting his happy eyes dramatically. Voldemort had been drawn to him in a way he’d never felt before. 

Ever since that night, Voldemort felt like he was sane once more. Like he was in control. 

And having his precious ripped away from, stolen in the dead of night, had snapped what little control he had. 

Bellatrix had raged with a vengeance. Watching her scream and torture everyone who was dumb enough to get her path had been satisfying, but did nothing to find Little One, so Voldemort regretfully put a stop to it. 

Voldemort knew that he’d been sadistic and terrifying before Little One. He assumed that that side of him left once his child had come into his life, but he was wrong. So wrong. Little One did not get rid of his murderous urges, merely redirected them and made them productive. 

And now that Little One was gone, his rage had reared back tenfold. 

There was a knock on his door, and it startled Voldemort into awareness once more. He hissed and fought with himself to keep his magic from lashing out and destroying the person who dared interrupt him. “Enter.” Voldemort said, his voice cool and deadly. 

The door opened to reveal an enraged Lucius Malfoy. He bowed deeply. “My Lord.” he said softly. “I have news regarding Little One.” 

Voldemort’s gaze narrowed, and he reigned in the desire to throttle the proud Malfoy patriarch to get the information he craved. “What i _ssss_ it?” he demanded, his voice slipping into a hiss. 

Lucius shuddered at Voldemort’s liberal use of parseltongue but remained true. “My son, Draco, has written me a letter.” Lucius said. “It appears that the Headmaster is sporting a new fashion full of flowers.” 

There was no stopping his magic this time. 

The room shuddered under the immense pressure as Voldemort’s magic slipped out of control. The temperature dropped dramatically and his presence became dark and dangerous. Lucius shivered at the display of magic. 

“Is that so?” Voldemort said, his voice eerily calm and collected. 

“Indeed, My Lord.” Lucius said, not daring to lift his gaze from the ground. 

Voldemort forced himself to regain control, but the thought of Little One in the presence of _Dumbledore_ made it very difficult. His precious, his most cherished child, in the hands of that meddling old man! Voldemort snarled. 

“Leave.” 

Lucius didn’t argue against the terrifying command. He bowed once more before he made his quick escape, and Voldemort heard the door click shut. Voldemort grit his teeth audibly, his crimson eyes flashing with a murderous intent that had been popping up every few seconds these past few days. 

Nagini had raised her head, and a hiss escaped her jaws as the fire reflected off her scales. “ _Master, what will you do_?” she asked. 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, his gaze slipping down to the paper that had been sitting on his desk for the past two days. Rage bubbled up in his chest as he looked at the drawing of himself, Nagini, and Little One. His favorite drawing… 

“ _I’m going to destroy everything he’s ever built_ ,” Voldemort hissed, his eyes lighting up with malignant glee. “ _I’m going to tear down his empire bit by bit. I’m going to ruin his image. I’m going to arrest his people. I’m going to make sure everything he’s ever worked for and loved is gone_.”

Nagini had slithered closer to him in his rant, her head resting on Voldemort’s thigh. Her eyes sparkled as Voldemort continued. 

“ _And when he’s lost everything he’s ever cared about_ ,” Voldemort smirked dangerously, a mad glint entering his crimson orbs. “ _I’m going to kill him_.” 

A loud laugh burst out of his lips, and the sound of it sent shivers down the spines of anyone within ear range. It was cruel and full of a deadly promise. Voldemort gingerly touched the paper, his fingers brushing over the stick figure with bright green eyes. 

His gaze hardened. 

“ _I’m going to take everything from him. Just as he took_ everything _from me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Voldemort is _not_ happy. 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Contractual Obligations written by Witchlips  
> This is a severitus fic where Voldemort is Severus's father. It's really good, and if you haven't read it already, I seriously recommend it!  
> \------------------  
> Nagini: That was a really good speech, Master  
> Voldemort: Thanks  
> Voldemort: I've been practicing


	13. 12: Bruises and Swing Sets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **TW: Child Abuse**  
> 

**_-September 30 1991-_**  
“I think we have a problem,” Moody said as he entered the house. Sirius looked up from the book he was showing Harry, his eyebrows furrowing at the enraged look on his face. “We need to have a meeting.” 

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked, his hand automatically reaching out to tug Harry closer to him. Harry didn’t seem to mind, merely cuddling back into his chest and continued to read the book. 

“‘Dunno,” he said, limping his way into the kitchen. “Dumbledore called. Said somethin’s wrong.” 

Sirius wanted to ask more, but he knew now wasn’t the time. He sighed and stood up, Harry hitched on his waist, and walked into the kitchen. The floo flared on and off as Order members stepped into the kitchen. He waited until everyone had arrived before he took a seat, Harry sitting pliantly in his lap as he continued to read, unbothered by the change of scenery. 

“What’s happening?” Remus asked, his eyes narrowed as he watched Dumbledore pace. Dumbledore sighed and took a seat at the head of the table, his blue eyes filled with regret. 

“He’s searching for him.” was all he said. 

Everyone tensed, and Sirius tightened his grip on his godson protectively. No one needed any clarification about what Dumbledore was talking about. It was clear from his defeated posture that the Dark Lord was searching for Harry. 

“What are we going to do?” Molly asked, wringing her hands nervously. 

“He’s not going to find him here!” Moody said, his glass eye searching the faces of the Order members. “But we should remain vigilant nonetheless.” 

“I’m not giving him up,” Sirius said firmly. He saw Remus nod in agreement in his peripheral. “I don’t care what he does. Harry is staying with us.” 

“My boy…” Dumbledore said softly. “I will do what is necessary to keep Harry safe.” 

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Why does it sound like you’re going to tell me something else?” he demanded. Dumbledore sighed.

“We do not know what he has planned,” Dumbledore said softly. “We need to remain cautious, as Alastor said. If we are not careful…” 

Sirius grit his teeth. “I’m not losing him again.” Sirius snapped. “I just got him back… I’m not… I _can’t_ \---”

“I understand, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said softly, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “I will do everything I can to keep Harry safe and in your possession.” 

“He’s _not_ a possession.” Sirius snarled. “But he can’t go back to _him_. I won’t let it happen. Do you hear me?” 

Dumbledore’s eyes softened at the desperate look in Sirius’s eyes. “I understand, my boy,” he said softly. “We’re going to keep him safe.” 

Sirius didn’t say anything else, choosing instead, to bury his face in Harry’s curls. He felt a little pathetic, but the thought of losing Harry, after he _just got him back_ , was too much for him. He fought against the stinging in his eyes, and when he felt in control of himself once more, he looked up. 

Everyone else had given Sirius the privacy he needed to compose himself, and when he looked up only Molly was looking at him, giving him a sympathetic look. Sirius relaxed slightly and nodded at her. She smiled before she turned her attention back to Dumbledore. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Remus asked, leaning forward. 

“We don’t know what he intends to do,” Dumbledore said with a slight frown. “For now we must be very cautious. We must avoid suspicion. It is imperative that he does not know that we have Harry.” 

Dumbledore looked at Harry then, and Sirius shivered at the calculating look in his eyes. Whatever Dumbledore was thinking about right now, Sirius did not like it. It set him on edge. Sirius shifted his weight, moving Harry from one knee to the other, and in doing so, shifting Dumbledore’s focus back to the Order. 

“Kinglsey, Alastor, I need you to keep an eye out in the New Ministry,” Dumbledore continued, as though his slip had never occurred. “Look out for whispers.” 

Kinglsey nodded, the auror having already predicted that. “We’ll alert you if anything changes.” 

“I’m afraid that’s all we can do for now,” Dumbledore said sadly. “Thank you all for coming so swiftly.” 

With the obvious dismissal, the Order began to pack up and leave. Sirius sat in place, though, eyeing Dumbledore strangely. Dumbledore picked up on the stare and turned to face him. 

“Is something wrong, my boy?” 

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “You tell me.” he said. Dumbledore frowned. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my boy.” Dumbledore said softly. 

“Why _are_ you so concerned with Harry’s safety?” Sirius asked. “Why do you care so much?” 

“Why, because you do!” Dumbledore said, in his usual grandfatherly fashion. “He obviously means quite a big deal to you. I only want to help you.” 

“I don’t buy it.” Sirius said, shaking his head slightly. “What’s the real reason?” 

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, and Sirius knew he’d caught him. “I have a theory…” Dumbledore said softly. He then shook his head. “It’s truly nothing, my dear boy. Please, ignore the ramblings of an old man.”

Sirius wanted to press more, but Dumbledore quickly bid goodbye and left. Sirius just stared at the empty fireplace where he’d vanished speculatively. Remus came up behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders. 

“What was that about?” he asked, leaned over to press a kiss to Sirius’s cheek. Sirius’s eyebrows were furrowed as he started. 

“I haven’t the faintest.” Sirius said, turning around to face his lover. “But I think Dumbledore is hiding something.” 

In his lap, Harry entertained himself by braiding flowers into Sirius’s dark locks. 

* * *

Voldemort stalked through his castle, ignoring the way people avoided him. As he walked, his magic flared around him, sending anyone close to him into a fearful fit. Voldemort had just left a meeting with his Inner Circle, and was trying desperately to reign in his rage. 

He stalked up the stairs to his personal wing, and stopped at the sight of the wooden door. His magic flared uncontrollably for a second before Voldemort calmed down. 

He approached the door hesitantly, and Voldemort cursed himself when he realized his hands were trembling. He slowly pushed the door open, and a weird tightness erupted in his chest at the sight before him. 

It was just as beautiful as it always was, but it was missing the most perfect part. 

Little One wasn’t in the garden, so how _dare_ the garden continue to thrive?

Voldemort trailed through the garden, his robes passing over the grass and flowers easily. He trailed his long fingers against the bushes as he made his way to the center of the room. The room was magically endless, yet it was impossible to get lost in it. At the very center of the room lay the grand oak tree. 

Little One’s bed hung like a swing from the tree’s branches, and intertwined in the vines of the swing, were flowers and orbs of light. The bed itself was soft and pillowy, and Voldemort sat down on the bed, sinking into its cushion. 

The room was made specifically for his precious, all of it made to make him feel safe and cared for. Voldemort had swore that his dearest would never feel the fear and pain he’d felt before ever again. 

Back then it was so easy to love the boy. Voldemort had known from the second he first saw him, that the child was special. That he was perfect. Voldemort had no idea to what extent back then, but he had known that he would do anything to save the child… 

_-December 20 1983-_

_Voldemort cursed as he landed with a loud thud. How dare…! Voldemort was going to take great pleasure in destroying the idiot in charge of creating his portkey. Voldemort knew that he should’ve made it himself, after all, you can never trust anyone with something so important, but he’d gotten caught up with work and there was no time._

_After the New Ministry ball that Voldemort had attended to show good faith to the people he was now ruling, Voldemort was looking forward to going home and relaxing with a good book, curled up by the fire. Instead of that, though, he was now awkwardly sprawled out in some random neighborhood, who-knows-where!_

_Voldemort growled and stood up, brushing the dust and snow off of his robes with dignity. He huffed and straightened out his apparel before he located his wand. Now he needed to get back to his Castle and_ crucio _the living daylights out of that idiot in charge of his travel. He was going to have fun with it, too. Maybe he’d even give him to Bella for fun, as he knew she was getting bored, and a bored Bellatrix was never something one should have---_

_“‘Scuse me, sir?”_

_Voldemort was pulled out of his tortuous thoughts by a child-like voice. Voldemort did not bother to contain his sneer as he looked down. How dare a muggle address the Great Lord Voldemort---_

_Green._

_For the second time that night, Voldemort’s dark thoughts were interrupted. Previous thoughts of murdering the muggle that dared interrupt him were thrown out the metaphorical window at the sight of green. It was so vivid, and it reminded Voldemort fondly of his most favorite spell._

_That green came from the eyes of a muggle toddler. Voldemort didn’t think that muggles could have such an eye color. As Voldemort blinked, the stunning emeralds shifted out of the tunnel vision, and Voldemort was taking in the rest of the child._

_And he did not like what he saw._

_The child was shivering, and Voldemort could see the bright redness of his extremities. The child couldn’t be older than five, yet he shivered in the cold at night. His black hair was tousled and damp with snow, and his broken glasses slid down his face, no doubt aggravating the giant bruise on his cheek._

_The child was thin, horribly so, and he wore nothing but an oversized T-shirt and denim pants that were scuffed and tearing at the knees. It was not suitable for the cold December night nor the piling snow._

_It was quite obvious child abuse, and it disgusted Voldemort more than anything. He had, once a very long time ago, suffered like the child before him, and it filled him with righteous anger. Voldemort had thought that he’d never have to see an abused child again once he stepped into the Wizarding World, what with how cherished children were there. Yet here he was, standing face to face with a child obviously abused._

_“Did you pop up out’ta nowhere, mister?” the child asked, his speech garbled with both the babyish tongue and the cold._

_It took Voldemort a second to gain his bearings and address the child back. “What did you say?” he asked, staring pointedly at the black and blue bruise painted across the child’s cheek._

_“Heard a loud pop,” the child said, waving his hand to exaggerate the word, and Voldemort saw the way he winced, a look of pain flashing on the child’s face as he moved his left arm. “And then you were just there.”_

_Distantly, Voldemort realized that the child must have seen him arrive with the portkey. However, for the most part, Voldemort was surprised at how verbal the child was, as well as the intelligence he portrayed. The toddler couldn’t be older than five, yet he spoke as though he were eight or nine. (And Voldemort had a feeling that the child spoke that way out of necessity, and it made him all the angrier.)_

_“It was magic.” Voldemort said in a rare tone. He didn’t know what compelled him to be truthful to the child, but he felt like he couldn’t lie to the green-eyed babe._

_The child’s eyes widened with wonder before they narrowed, and Voldemort watched with confusion as the child looked around the neighborhood suspiciously. “You can’t say that,” the child whispered. “You’ll get ‘unished.”_

_Voldemort’s eyebrow raised. “Punished? For magic?”_

_“Bad word!” the child cried in horrified shock. “‘S’a bad word! You’ll get ‘unished!”_

_Voldemort wanted to press more, but he didn’t want to scare the child away. For whatever reason, Voldemort felt some kind of connection to the beaten tot, and Voldemort wanted to know more about him. “Why are you out here?” he asked. “It’s mighty cold. Where are your parents?”_

_“Dead, sir,” the child said. “Aunt Petunia kicked me out. Said I was dirtying the house.”_

_Voldemort controlled the flash of rage that shot through him. He chose, instead, to focus on the other part of the child’s answer. “Your parents are dead?” he asked. The child nodded, and Voldemort watched as the broken glasses slid further down his nose._

_“Aunt Petunia says my dad killed my mum in a car crash,” the child parrots. “He’s a good for nothin’ drunk and I had a whore offa mum.”_

_Voldemort clenched his hands at the crude words that were repeated out of the child’s mouth. How dare someone tell a child that! “What’s your name, child?” Voldemort asked._

_“Harry,” Harry said, pushing his glasses back up on his face. “Harry Potter.”_

_Voldemort felt himself blanche. Harry Potter? That was the name of a noble Wizarding bloodline! Was this child… was this child a wizard? Suddenly, Voldemort felt like it was impossible to breathe, his rage was choking him._

_“Harry, have you ever… Has strange things ever happened around you?” Voldemort found himself asking, leaning down to get a better look at the child’s reaction. “Like pots falling down, toys floating, that sort of thing?”_

_If possible, Harry’s face turned an even paler shade of white, and the child rocked back on his heels, his emerald eyes darting around as if gauging the best possible escape route. “I didn’t mean to…” he said softly,_

_Voldemort had no words to describe the way he felt when Harry said that. He wanted to rage and destroy the muggles that dared to harm a wizarding child, but the way the child trembled as if he were about to be hit, pulled on heartstrings Voldemort didn’t know he had._

_“Oh child...” he said softly. Voldemort couldn’t describe it. It was like… some connection had been formed between him and the child at that moment. Suddenly, Voldemort wanted nothing more than to protect him. Perhaps it was because it reminded him so much of himself, and how he wished that he could have made a better life for himself when he was a child. Or perhaps it was because of the way Harry looked at him. Maybe it was those eyes… Whatever the reason was, however, Voldemort knew that he was going to do what he could to save the child before him._

_“”M sorry.” Harry said softly, toeing the snow-covered ground with his broken sneakers that were being held together with nothing more than grey tape._

_“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Voldemort said in a soft voice. “Where have you been staying?”_

_Harry gingerly pointed behind him to a muggle swing set. “I stay there when I’m not ‘llowed in the house.”_

_Voldemort stood up and walked towards the swing set. “Do you play on it?”_

_Harry shrugged, and Voldemort fought back an enraged expression at the child’s hushed hiss of pain. “Sometimes. Mostly I just sit.”_

_An image of Harry sitting on the ground in the freezing cold, waiting to be allowed inside the warm house, sprang into Voldemort’s mind. It made his chest feel weirdly tight, and Voldemort passed it off as indigestion. “When are you allowed back in?”_

_“Morning.”_

_Voldemort did not like the idea at all. He especially did not like the idea of leaving a child outside in the dark on his own. There were kidnappers! Weren’t they concerned at all? Judging from the bruise on his face, it wasn’t likely._

_Voldemort knew he could always ask the child where he lived and set his relative straight, but Voldemort wasn’t fond of the idea, either. He didn’t want to just fix the problem and leave it. What if the muggles didn’t listen? No, it was better if Voldemort handled this himself. And by handle, Voldemort meant take the child in himself._

_It was strange. Voldemort had never considered having a child---he always thought them to be loud, messy, brash little creatures---but looking at Harry, Voldemort could not think of a more suitable heir._

_Yes, Voldemort would take in Harry. He would save him from the nasty muggles who dared abuse him, and raise him to be a proper prince._

_But not yet. He needed more time to prepare. He needed to make the castle suitable to house a child, and he needed to inform his Inner Circle. Who would be the godparents…? Ah well, there was time. Voldemort could figure out all of the pleasantries later. For now, though, Voldemort would get to know his child._

_“Harry,” he said softly, directing the toddler’s attention to him. “Do you like living with your Aunt?”_

_Harry’s bright emerald eyes glazed over. “I like my Aunt and Uncle. They feed me three times a day, and play with me, and give me lots of love. I like living with them and want to stay with them forever.”_

_Voldemort fought back a cringe at the scripted response. How many times had the child been questioned about his home-life? “Right, I’m sure,” Voldemort said placatingly, not wanting to upset the child. “But let’s say, hypothetically---”_

_“What’s that mean, sir?”_

_“For pretend,” Voldemort answered. “Let’s say, for pretend, you could live somewhere else. Would you want to?”_

_Harry eyed him suspiciously. “For pretend?” he asked._

_“For pretend.” Voldemort nodded. Harry smiled, his bright green eyes lighting up at the possibility._

_“Yes,” he said, a smile decorating his face and making Voldemort feel strangely fuzzy inside. “I would love that.”_

_“What if you could have a Papa?” Voldemort asked again, drawn in by the child’s reaction. The child’s eyes widened even further with longing and hope._

_“I want a Papa.” Harry whispered lowly, as though he were admitting his guilt to a heinous crime._

_“I think, Harry, I can help you,” Voldemort said softly. Harry’s eyes were wide now, and he was staring at Voldemort with hope and slight suspicion._

_“Help?” he asked._

_“What if… What if_ I _was your Papa?”_

Voldemort sighed, his crimson eyes gazing up to the ceiling. He could just barely make out puffy white clouds in the blue sky through the gaps of the tree leaves. Little One had been so happy back then, yet he’d been too late. 

Voldemort grit his teeth, refusing to allow himself to think about that time. That horrible moment when he was too late. 

Voldemort chose, instead, to continue to look at the sky. 

“Don’t worry, precious,” he whispered to nobody. “I have a plan. You’ll be home soon.” 

Beside him, the silence was disturbed by a soft breeze, and the leaves rustled above him peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, long chapter. There is a _lot_ to unpack here. Lot's of plot being revealed here... 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** What Once was Taken, Will Be Returned written by queenvictorique  
> This is a severitus fic, and a slowburn tomarry. This is really incredible, and I seriously recommend you check it out!!  
> \----------------  
> Dumbledore: If he's Harry Potter...  
> Dumbledore: Then could he be...  
> Dumbledore: The child of the prophecy...?


	14. 13: The Plan

**_-October 1 1991-_**  
Lucius exited the New Ministry with a victorious smirk on his face. His Lord had been most gracious when he offered him a chance to bring Little One home, one that Lucius had immediately accepted. It was a brilliant plan, of course, and all they had to do now was wait. 

When Lucius first heard that Little One had been taken, his first thought was,’ _Merlin save those souls_ ’, because he knew that they would die a slow, and agonizing death. But as the days passed, Lucius found himself hoping for their suffering.

It had been exactly six days since Little One was taken, and the rapid devolution of his Lord was alarming. For the first few days, his Lord acted calmly, if a bit agitated. But as the days continued, and the search for Little One yielded nothing, the Dark Lord seemed to revert back to the Dark Lord that Lucius was terrified of. The one that had won the war and the respect of the proud Pure-Blood Wizards. 

And, as loathe he was to admit it, Lucius kind of missed the creature. Lucius wasn’t used to admitting such feelings, and as the Lord to an Ancient and Noble House, such things were below him. Yet, each day he passed through the kitchen to see an empty vase on the table, Lucius felt a hollow pang in his chest. 

He had gotten quite used to seeing Little One weekly, and watching as the adorable toddler handed everyone flowers. Lucius had gotten close---as close as a Pure-Blood Lord could, anyway---to the Inferius these past seven years. Not to mention, his dearest Wife loved the thing. 

It was a struggle to see Narcissa stare forlornly at the empty vase, see her wish for the child to return. Lucius knew that Narcissa cared for Little One like one of her own, knew that Draco saw Little One as a little brother. And if there was one thing Lucius didn’t stand for, it was hurting his family. 

And so, the chance to bring Little One home was too good of an offer to pass up. 

Lucius felt that it was a brilliant plan, one that wouldn’t expose Little One’s existence to the public but still work effectively. With brilliant planning and the tiniest amount of luck, Little One should be home in time for dinner. 

Lucius apparated back to Malfoy Manor, his icy facade breaking just a bit to reveal a triumphant smirk hidden underneath.

* * *

Severus knew that it was only a matter of time before it happened. To be honest, he was surprised it took as long as it did. Perhaps having that mangy mutt and his dog had helped calm him down and keep him docile, but six days… No, it was too much for the child. 

Severus had been called to the Order’s Headquarters earlier this morning, and he showed no signs of stopping. 

“Please!” Black cried, his dark eyes wide and pleading. “Just calm down! Are you hungry? I can get you some food!”

“He’s not listening!” Molly cried, her face as red as her hair while she wrung her hands anxiously. Severus bit back an exhausted sigh. 

“Please, Harry, please stop crying!” Black tried again. “I don’t know what you want? Please, just talk to us!” 

According to Black, Little One’s suspicion had finally overtaken his friendliness. He was suspicious of the entire Order, save for Black and Lupin, and refused to go anywhere near them. After six days of nonstop cuddling and coddling, Black was beside himself with worry. 

Severus knew exactly what was wrong with him, but watching the Order scramble like a bunch of adolescent children brought Severus great entertainment. 

The floor flared to life and Moody stepped through, his magical eye boring a hole into the back of Little One’s head. “How long?” he asked gruffly. 

“All night,” Black said, and the bags under his eyes confirmed his statement. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with him! He won’t come near anyone and anytime we get close he just…” 

“Throws a tantrum.” Molly cuts in, her eyes darting between the Inferius huddled up in a ball in the corner, and the gruff auror by the fireplace. 

“What did you do, Black?” Moody asked, raising an eyebrow at the disheveled animagus. Black only growled at him.

“I didn’t _do_ anything!” he snapped. “I don’t know what happened! He won’t talk to me!” 

Severus sighed, and he knew he needed to intervene before those idiots did something drastic. Severus stepped forward, ignoring the strange looks (and glares) he received from the frazzled Order members, and bent down so that he was eye level with Little One. 

He was curled in on himself in the corner of the living room, his arms holding his knees to his chest. He was crying quietly, barely making any sound save for the sniffles and hushed sobs. His hair was messier than usual and tear tracks stained his cheeks. 

“Little One,” he whispered softly. Little One relaxed ever so slightly. “What’s going on?” 

“Don’t call him that!” Black snapped. “That’s not his name!”

“It’s the name he’s comfortable with!” Severus replied bitingly. “Can’t you see you’re making it worse?!” 

Black’s eyes flared dangerously, but Lupin grabbed his arm and pulled him away ever so slightly. Severus smirked and turned back to face Little One, ignoring the holes Black was burning into the back of his head. 

“Little One,” Severus tried again. “Why are you so upset? We can’t make it better if you don’t tell us.” 

The Order held their breath as Little One uncurled slightly, tilting his head so that his emerald eyes locked with Severus. Severus plastered the most welcoming and gentle smile on his face that he could muster, ignoring the wide-eyes from the idiot Order members. 

In a soft, child-like voice, Little One whispered. “Wan’ Papa.” 

The Order froze, their eyes wide with horror while Severus sighed. “He wanted us to take care of you.” he tried, hoping to soothe the child’s fear. 

It didn’t work. 

Little One’s lower lip wobbled as his eyes filled with tears He sucked in a harsh breath only to sob it out. “You lying!” he whisper-shouted. 

To be honest, if he weren’t desperate to calm the child down, he would be impressed. That was the loudest Severus had ever heard Little One speak. “Little One…” Severus said softly. 

“Home.” Little One said in between gasps. “I go home now.” 

Severus opened his mouth to say more when Moody interrupted him, his harsh voice causing Little One to jump. “Kitchen. Now.” 

Severus looked at Little One, his eyes full of regret and sorrow. He never wanted this to happen. As the Order members shuffled awkwardly out of the room, Severus leaned forward to whisper at the child. 

“I’m so sorry, Little One,” he said softly, making sure that no one but Little One could hear him. “I tried to protect you. Please, forgive me.” 

“I wan’ my Papa.” Little One whined, his hand reaching up to tug on his hair nervously.

“I’m going to try my best to get you home,” Severus promised, his eyes darting up quickly to make sure that no one heard him. Black and Lupin stood by the door, Black’s arms crossed and his eyes narrowed suspiciously, but no more than usual. They couldn’t hear him. “But I need you to promise me something.” 

Little One tilted his head to the right gently. “P’womise?” 

Severus nodded. “Please, don’t tell your… Don’t tell your Papa I brought you here.” he said. “It’s a secret.” 

Little One’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Severus knew that Draco had taught Little One that word, and what little guilt Severus felt at manipulating the child was overshadowed by his survival instincts. If Little One thought keeping secrets was a game, then he was less likely to tell the Dark Lord who kidnapped him. A sad price to pay, but a necessary evil indeed. 

“Snape.” Black growled, clearly done with Severus bonding with his _precious godson_. 

Severus sighed and stood up, brushing the dirt off his robes with elegant grace. He pointedly looked away from Black’s snarling face as he passed him, only to be jerked back by a strong grip on his forearm. 

“Black.” Severus raised an eyebrow as he looked down to the hand on his arm. “Remove your appendage if you wish to _keep it_.” 

“Stay away from Harry,” Black snapped. “He doesn’t need you anywhere near him.” 

“Seeing as _I_ was the one to calm him down,” Severus replied bitingly, smirking at the wince of pain that flashed through Black’s eyes. “I think he does. More than he needs _you_ anyway.”

Black snarled, his face contorting with rage, but Lupin quickly put his hand on Black’s shoulder, effectively silencing the man. “Thank you for your help, Severus.” Lupin said softly, his eyes full of weary gratitude. Severus sneered. 

“Keep a leash on your mutt,” he snapped. “Wouldn’t want to put him down.” 

And with that, Severus walked briskly into the kitchen, his robes billowing behind him. He heard the couple follow in behind him, but Severus didn’t care to turn around. He sat down at the far end of the table, far away from the pair. He put on a disinterested expression and looked to Moody. 

“We have to do something about that.” Moody said, his magic eye lazily glancing around the room, while his real one stared directly at Black. Severus smirked internally at the uncomfortable expression on the mutt’s face. 

“About what?” he asked. 

“That Inferius,” Moody said, ignoring the outraged expressions on Lupin, Black and Molly. “He’s a liability.” 

“He’s a toddler!” Molly gasped.

“Yeah. The _Dark Lord’s_ toddler,” Moody snapped. “We thought we were rescuing him when we took him! Does he look happy to be away from that man?” 

It was silent for a moment as they took it all in. Severus wished he could say ‘I told you so’. It would improve his mood dramatically. “He’s just confused.” Black said finally. And there it is… Severus was wondering when Black would say that. 

“Of course he wants to go back,” Tonks said, her hair turning an ugly shade of yellow. “He’s stuck in a place with strangers while the man that raised him isn’t here.” 

Black growled. “That man didn’t raise him.” 

“And what do you call housing, protecting, taking care of, and loving a child?” Severus asked. Black was spitting mad by now and his dangerous eyes held a mad glint in them. 

“Kidnapping with extra steps.” he responded. Severus grinned lazily. 

“Pot. Meet kettle.” 

Black slammed his fists onto the table as he stood, his chair scraping against the floor loudly. “We did _not_ kidnap him!” he snapped. “Harry just doesn’t understand yet! That’s all! He’s my godson, and it’s my job to protect him!” 

“And who, exactly, are you protecting him from?” Severus asked. “Because to me, it looks like you kidnapped a child away from a loving parent because said parent happens to run the country in a way you don’t agree with.” 

“Watch it, Snape!” Black snarled. “And _I_ wasn’t the one who kidnapped him.” 

“So you admit it’s kidnapping.” 

“I’m just trying to protect him!” Black cried. “Don’t you see? Harry is my godson and I love him! He’s safe here!” 

“But is he happy?”

The resounding silence was, for lack of a better word, _loud_. No one said anything, eyes looking pointedly away from Black’s upright figure. Black was staring daggers at Severus, but Severus could see the wheels turning behind them. Good. He’d instilled doubt. That was what he needed. He could work with this. If he could convince the Order that what they were doing was wrong, then he could bring Little One back easier. 

However, just as Severus was about to deliver the final blow, Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore walked in. 

His face was grave, his blue eyes downcast as he entered the kitchen. As the door opened, Severus caught a glimpse of Little One, still huddled up in the corner. Dumbledore walked silently to the head of the table before he collapsed into the chair. 

“Albus?” Molly asked quietly, her eyes searching the downtrodden man. “What’s happened?” 

“Voldemort… Voldemort has made his move.” he said softly. 

Everyone tensed and Severus could feel his muscles freeze at the notion. Dear Merlin… Why was he not informed of this? Did the Dark Lord no longer trust him? Has he figured out that Severus was the one who kidnapped Little One? 

“What did he do?” Black asked, sinking back into his chair. All the fight from the previous minute has since left him, and all that was left was a broken man, desperate to keep the last of his friend’s memory with him. 

“He has… issued a warrant for my arrest,” Dumbledore said softly. Gasps rang from around the table. “It is effective starting tomorrow unless…” 

“Unless?” Molly asked. 

“Unless… and I quote, his ‘ _property_ ’ is returned safe and sound before the arrest is put into order.” Dumbledore said. Severus could see Black’s rage return to him. 

“His _property_?” he snarled, righteous anger plastered all over his face. “That… that… bastard! How dare he?! Property?! Harry is _not_ his _property_.” 

“What are we going to do?” Tonks asked. “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll end up in a cushy prison cell if you’re caught.” 

Dumbledore chuckled despite himself. “No, I don’t believe so,” he said. “I have no doubt of what will be done to me if I am arrested.” 

“Are you going to go into hiding?” Molly asked. Dumbledore shook his head. 

“If I am to leave Hogwarts, I can’t guarantee the children’s safety.” Dumbledore said. Severus fought back a scoff. Their safety? As if. The Dark Lord would not allow any harm to befall the children. Severus knew that what Dumbledore was _really_ afraid of, was losing his power over the children and their ideals. 

And the only way to ensure that he is neither arrested nor booted from Hogwarts… 

“So… what are you going to do?” Black asked, a suspicious glint in his eyes. It appeared that the mutt came to the same conclusion Severus did. 

Dumbledore’s eyes held something akin to sadness as he looked at him. “My dear boy…” he said softly. 

Black’s eyes hardened. “No.” he said firmly, shaking his head. “No. No way.” 

“Sirius…” Molly said, standing up and walking towards the man. He scooted away from her touch, shaking his head vigorously. 

“We are _not_ giving him Harry!” Black cried. “That’s crazy! We just got him back…” 

“We don’t have another choice,” Dumbledore said gently. “We’re boxed in. We have no other options.” 

“Yeah there is!” Black snapped. “You could get arrested! Boom! Problem solved!” 

“Sirius!” Molly cried, aghast. Black was unrepentant. Dumbledore only shook his head sadly. 

“I’m so sorry, my boy,” he said. “But right now, our best option is to return him. We need time to plan our next move before we retrieve him again.” 

Severus snapped his head to the side, staring at Dumbledore incredulously. “You intend to kidnap the child again?!” he asked. 

“Severus, we cannot allow Harry to fall into Voldemort’s hands.” he said. “Right now, our best option is to return him, find a way to counteract any attacks Voldemort might throw at us, and take Harry back when the opportunity presents itself.” 

Sirius shook his head even harder. “No! Nope. No, that is not happening.” 

“Surely you can’t be serious!” Severus said. “You saw that taking Little One from the Dark Lord is a bad idea! You know he’s not a weapon! Why on Earth would you involve a child in this?” 

“Because Harry is so much more than just a child.” Dumbledore said cryptically. 

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean!?” Severus cried. 

“It doesn’t matter because it’s not happening!” Black cried. Moody growled. 

“You’ll get him back, Black,” Moody said. “It’s only for a little while. Stop whining.” 

Black snarled wordlessly at the man but Moody only stared at him firmly. “This is… This is insane!” Black cried. “You realize this, right? This is bloody insane!” 

“I know you're upset, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “But this truly is our best option. Please understand, I don’t want this either.” 

“Then why---”

“Because if we don’t, then Voldemort will arrest me and take control of Hogwarts, and we can’t let that happen.” Dumbledore said. “We will not leave him, Sirius. I swear to you we will go back for him.” 

Black only shakes his head and storms out of the room, Lupin sending one last reproachful glance at them before he follows. Dumbledore sighed before he walked out of the room, the rest of the Order following close behind. 

Severus entered the foyer where Sirius was attempting to coax Little One out of the corner. He reached for him, only for Little One to shy away from him and sniffle. Severus sighed. “Little One.” he called. The Inferius turned to look at him. “Are you ready to see your Papa?” 

Little One’s eyes lit up and he nodded in an exaggerated manner. “Go home now?” he asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Black looked at him with a pained expression and some tiny, infinitesimal part of Severus felt bad for the man. He’d lost his two best friends and his godson, only to get him back and then watch helplessly as he’s taken away again. 

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, walking towards him. “I’ll take you to see your Papa.” 

Little One stood up clumsily, tripping over his feet as he ran to Dumbledore with a smile on his face. “I go home now! See Papa!” 

Dumbledore lifted the child up into his arms. He holds Little One to his chest, the distracted Inferius playing with his long beard, and looks at Sirius with regretful eyes. “We will get him back, Sirius,” he promises. “I swear it.” 

Sirius just looks at Harry, his eyes filled with an unnamed emotion before he walks away. The door slams behind him and Lupin sighs, and presses a quick kiss to Little One’s temple before he follows after his idiotic lover. Dumbledore sighs sadly before his face steels with determination. He tightens his hold on Harry, and apparates away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Well, at least Voldemort is getting his baby back. ... Or is he...?
> 
>  **Fanfiction Rec:** A Glimpse from Future written by Kanelore  
> This is actually a marvel fic where Tony is sent back in time to meet a younger Howard. (TW for child abuse) This is actually a really good read, a little sad, but also heartwarming! Go check it out!  
> \------------------------  
> Sirius: Please don't take my baby  
> Voldemort: He's not _your_ baby!!  
> Voldemort: >:(((


	15. 14: A Father's Love

**_-October 1 1991-_**  
Albus had always loved Stonehenge. The place was full of so much magical energy, even the muggles flocked to it with their cameras and tourism. He remembered back when he was much younger, back before his family was shattered by his mistakes and politics, he and his family would visit Stonehenge every summer. Seeing the towering rocks always brought forth a rush of nostalgia and joy. 

But not this time. 

As Albus apparated to the center of Stonehenge, he felt nothing but weariness. The rocks were in the same place as they’d been for hundreds of years, the erosion and plant life still fighting the age-old struggle to bring the giants down. It was quiet there, the stars twinkling overhead in the coming dusk. The peaceful atmosphere wouldn’t last, though. 

His presence was announced by the loud pop of apparition. Albus didn't turn around to greet his former student, and chose instead to look up at the sky. The husky blues, purples and pinks cast a warm glow on the ground. 

In his arms, however, the child squirmed. It was clear that Harry had seen Tom and was now reaching towards him, his eyes wide with impatient glee. Albus tightened his grip on the toddler to keep him from falling. Tom hissed behind him. 

“Dumbledore.” he said, his voice tight with rage. Albus turned around then, a polite smile resting on his face. 

“Hello Tom,” he said with a nod. Tom’s crimson eyes narrowed. “A fine spot.” 

“Give. Him. Back.” 

“Manners, Tom,” Albus tutted. “I know you know them.” 

Tom hissed nonverbally. In his arms, Harry responded with a hiss. Albus felt his insides freeze at the noise. He looked down at the Inferius with surprise. The child spoke parseltongue? That should be impossible! Lily and James did not have such a trait… 

“Where were your manners when you kidnapped him?” Tom asked sharply, his hands tightening into fists at his side. 

“A simple misunderstanding, I assure you.” Albus said with a tight smile. 

Tom’s eyebrow raised delicately. “A misunderstanding?” he asked through grit teeth. 

“I was under the assumption that the child was in need of rescuing.” Albus answered semi-honestly. In truth, he _did_ think the child needed to be rescued. It was just an added bonus that the Inferius would weaken Tom. 

Tom scoffed. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head with an angry mirth. “Your close mindedness will be your downfall old man.” 

“It was a fair assumption, Tom.” Dumbledore said. “I wouldn’t put such a feat above you.” 

“That is not my name.” Tom hissed, anger replacing whatever amusement that was left. “Give me my child back. _Now_.” 

“How did you meet Harry?” Albus asked. Tom twitched at the name, a sneer pulling his features. 

“That’s not his name.” Tom replied. “Seems you’re forgetting much in your old age. Don’t worry, I hear going senile isn’t as bad as it sounds.” 

“That is the name his parents gave him,” Albus said firmly. “Thus, his name is Harry.” 

Albus tensed when Tom’s magic flared with rage. His red eyes were practically glowing with rage as he snarled. “I am his parent. _I_ am. _Not_ them.” 

“You’ve taken this too far, Tom.” Albus said, his grip on Harry tightening even further. “You took Harry from a happy home---”

Tom let out a humorless cackle. “Happy? Happy home, you say?” he snarls. “Those muggles _murdered my son_! How dare you!” 

“He is not yours, Tom.” Albus said. “He has a godfather, as well. One who, I assure you, misses Harry dearly.” 

“Enough of this.” Tom hissed, practically spitting mad. “Give me my son and I won’t kill you where you stand.” 

“You would do such a thing in front of a child?” Albus asked in mock surprise. “One you claim to care about.” 

“Don’t high road me, Dumbledore,” Tom scoffed. “You kidnapped my son! I have never done such a thing to your side!” 

“No, you just kill them.” 

“Would you like to join them?” Tom spat. “Give me Little One. Now!” 

“Why do you want him so badly?” Albus asked, shifting Harry’s weight. The Inferius let out an almost silent whimper and stretched his arms out even further in Tom’s direction. Tom audibly grit his teeth at the sight. “You don’t love him.” 

“And how could you _possibly_ know that?” Tom demanded, rolling his eyes. 

“Because you can’t love, Tom.” Albus said. Instantly, Tom’s rage returned tenfold. The temperature dropped to almost icy and Albus narrowed his eyes at the enraged man. “Children of love potions are unable to feel love.” 

It was silent for a long time, the only noise coming from the light breeze rustling the grass. Tom’s crimson eyes glared daggers at Albus, his fists were white knuckled, and Albus fought back a shiver at the pure murderous intent in the man’s gaze. 

“You. Don’t. Know _anything_.” Tom said finally, his speech bordering on parseltongue. “Give me my son.”

This time, Albus knew not to test him. He did not want to fight with his nemesis in his childhood place. He did not want to risk the destruction of such a sacred place. Albus sighed and slowly bent down. He set the Inferius on the ground who raced across the clearing into Tom’s awaiting arms. 

Albus watched as Tom lifted the child into his arms and hugged him tightly, his eyes closing and for a brief second---so brief, Albus wondered if it were even there at all---a look of unadulterated joy passed over his face. Harry buried his face in Tom’s chest and gripped his robes tightly. Tom whispered something in parseltongue before he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. 

The tenderness of the moment surprised Albus. 

After a minute, Tom lifted his head and glared at Albus, so strongly that Albus fought back the desire to step away from him. Harry was resting his head in the juncture of Tom’s neck, his eyes slipped close. 

“I swear to you, Albus Dumbledore,” Tom said, snapping Albus’s attention to his face. “I am sparing you because you brought him back. Do not mistake my kindness as weakness.” 

Albus opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced by a murderous glare as Tom continued. 

“Should anything happen to my son,” he continued, his face taking on the most terrifying expression Albus had ever seen. The pure homicidal rage sent shivers down his spine. “I swear to you, _nothing_ will survive my carnage.” 

“Tom---”

“I will tear this world apart bit by bit until nothing stands.” Tom (No, Voldemort. This was Voldemort.) said. “And I will start... with you.” 

And with that, Voldemort apparated out of the clearing, leaving Albus in the echo of his childhood happiness and the most weary, unsettling feeling in his gut. 

Perhaps… Perhaps he was wrong about him…? 

* * *

Voldemort felt more calm than he had in days. Finally, after countless hours and sleepless nights, his son was back in his arms. Finally, after ten exhausting days without Little One’s bright smiles and hushed laughter and flowers, his child was safe with him once more. 

The comforting weight of Little One asleep in his arms grounded him, and it was only because Little One was in that clearing with him that Dumbledore was still alive. Had he not been… Dumbledore’s remains would’ve decorated the Stonehenge for centuries as a message not to mess with him and what was his. 

When Voldemort appears in the apparition zone, a sleeping Little One in his arms, he feels nothing short of triumph (and relief). He brought his son back home. 

As Voldemort walks through his castle, he sees his Death Eaters stop what they’re doing and stare at Little One as though he was the sun. Their eyes were full of hope and relief that he was home and Voldemort found he shared their sentiments perfectly. 

“My Lord.” 

Voldemort turned to see Narcissa and Lucius staring at the sleeping toddler in his arms. Narcissa stepped forward ever so slightly, her eyes wide with hope. “He’s returned?” she said. 

Voldemort nodded. “Dumbledore returned him to me.” 

“Dumbledore!” Narcissa hissed, her mask slipping momentarily as disgust filled her eyes. “How dare…!” 

“Is he okay?” Lucius asked, his face betraying no emotion. Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Lucius wasn’t one to show emotion, so the fact that he was even asking showed just how worried he was over Little One’s safety. Voldemort was quite pleased to know that his Inner Circle would protect Little One with everything they had. 

“He is exhausted.” Voldemort found himself answering. “It’s clear he did not sleep well wherever he was being held. He missed me a great deal.” 

“The poor child,” Narcissa bemoaned. “He must’ve been so scared!”

Voldemort felt his anger spike at the thought of Little One curled up in a ball in the dark somewhere, scared out of his mind without Voldemort there to protect him. “I’m sure he was,” he said in a tight voice. “The important thing is that he’s safe now.” 

“And Dumbledore?” Narcissa asked. Voldemort’s eyebrow twitched. 

“Alive still, unfortunately.” Voldemort said with a regretful sigh. “I needed him to play messenger. But should he try this again…” 

Voldemort let his threat rest, and he smirked at the murderous glares on both Lord and Lady Malfoy at the thought. Voldemort knew that Narcissa was remarkably close with his son, and Lucius---Voldemort had assumed---tolerated him for his wife and son’s sake. It appeared though, based on Lucius’s anger, that he was wrong. 

“What is our next move, My Lord?” Lucius asked. Voldemort tightened his grip on his sleeping child, Little One letting out a soft sniffle and rubbed his nose unconsciously. Narcissa cooed at the sleeping toddler. 

“Walk with me.” Voldemort said, turning briskly as he walked to his personal wing. As he walked into his personal wing, his eyes landed on the door to Little One’s room. He thought of placing Little One in his bed and allowing him to sleep in his own bed and wake up in a familiar place, but instantly dismissed the idea. 

Voldemort did not want to let go of his son nor did he want Little One’s form to leave his sight. 

He chose, instead, to open the grand door on the right that led to his personal study. The door on the left leading to his bedroom. He entered the room and walked briskly to his chair. By her spot at the fireplace, Nagini lifted her head. 

“ _Hatchling is home_?” Nagini hissed, excitement bleeding into her tone. 

“ _He is home, dear one_.” Voldemort answered, and Nagini hissed happily and slithered over to where he sat. To their credit, the Malfoy’s did not flinch at Voldemort’s use of parseltongue however they shifted uncomfortably as his giant familiar slithered closer to them. 

With Nagini resting at his feet, her tongue lazily scenting the air, Voldemort brought his attention to the task at hand. He held his hands on the desk and leaned forward. 

“There is a traitor in our midst.” 

Instantly the duo stiffened, their eyes widening with horror. “Is that… Is that how Little One was taken?” Narcissa asked, horrified. Voldemort gave a curt nod. 

“As it is common knowledge of Little One’s existence,” Voldemort said. “But only a select few know the exact relationship of Little One and I, the traitor could be anyone. The motive for taking him, according to Dumbldeore anyway, was rescuing him from me, I’d say the traitor could be a lower level Death Eater.” 

Lucius frowned. “How are we to flush the traitor out?” 

Voldemort leaned back in his chair. “Take it slow. Be subtle. I don’t want to scare him away.” Voldemort said. “Where there’s one traitor, more always follow.” 

“Of course, My Lord,” Lucius nodded. “I will operate with the utmost discretion.” 

“Good.” Voldemort nodded. “Find the rat that stole my child.” 

“And what will we do with him when we catch him?” 

A dangerous smirk bled across Voldemort’s face. “I believe the more appropriate question would be, what _won’t_ we do to him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Voldemort had his son back! It's about time!
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** What he grows to be written by Severus_Divides_into_H  
> This is super good Harry goes back in time to adopt Tom Riddle. Slowburn Tomarry. (Seriously this is one of my favorite fanfictions of all time!)  
> \-----------------  
> Voldemort: Finally  
> Voldemort: My child has been returned


	16. 15: A Traitor's Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: Minor to moderate Gore_

**_-October 10 1991-_**  
It had been ten days since Little One was brought back home, and in that time, Voldemort’s desire to murder and destroy everyone who had a hand in his kidnapping increased dramatically. When Little One was first brought back, he seemed to be acting exactly like his usual self. However, a few hours after he woke up from his fitful sleep proved Voldemort wrong. 

Little One refused to leave Voldemort’s side (which suited him just fine, as Voldemort didn’t want Little One out of his sight anyway). He stayed within two feet of Voldemort at all times, and when he wasn’t sitting comfortably in Voldemort’s arms, he was clutching Voldemort’s robes like a vice, his emerald eyes flitting back and forth as if looking for someone to try and pry him away from Voldemort. 

He didn’t approach anyone, and he rarely gave out flowers. It was a sobering sight to see his precious act so drawn in on himself. He climbed into Voldemort’s bed after Voldemort tucked him every night, to the point where, eventually, Voldemort just started tucking him in in his own bed. 

He was terrified of being far away from Voldemort, and when Voldemort tried to pass him off to the Malfoy Matriarch so he could attend a meeting, Little One had thrown an honest-to-Merlin _tantrum_. 

(Voldemort had never, _never_ seen Little One throw a fit before. From his time with those damned muggles, he learned to never make a scene and draw attention to himself. Even when he felt safe to show emotions around Voldemort, he was always docile and accommodating. Yet Little One kicked the ground and let out the softest cries and screeches and refused to let go of Voldemort’s robes.)

(Little One ended up sitting on his lap during the meeting.)

After a week of being in Voldemort’s presence twenty-four/seven, Little One mellowed out. He wasn’t insisting on being with Voldemort all the time, but he didn’t enjoy being away from him for more than a few hours. And Nagini had to be with him no matter what, or he wouldn’t go. 

When he brought his concerns to Narcissa, she smiled at him and said with a sad tone, “He’s traumatized from the kidnapping. He was forced to stay away from his… father for a very long time without knowing what was going on.” she then frowned. “My Lord, had Little One told you what happened over there?” 

Voldemort had shook his head. “He has said nothing.” 

“Do you think they hurt him?” 

Voldemort’s eyes had flashed at the thought, but he shook his head. He had sent her away after that, but the question rang in his ears for days after that. He didn’t think Dumbledore would stoop low enough to hurt a toddler, Inferius or not, and the fact that Little One _used_ to be the son of two of his followers… No, Dumbledore wouldn’t dare… Would he? 

Voldemort had found himself watching Little One closely after that, his eyes appraising every strange, out of character thing Little One did. He searched for any signs of abuse---flinching, greedy eating, ect.---but found nothing. But that did nothing to soothe his fears, after all, Little One was used to hiding abuse. (The very thought made Voldemort’s stomach roll.)

But despite the struggles Voldemort saw as Little One was adjusting, Little One seemed to be doing better. That was why Voldemort decided to have the meeting today. 

For the past ten days, while Voldemort and Narcissa stressed over Little One’s strange behavior, Lucius and the rest of Inner Circle were conducting the search for the traitor. 

Voldemort could see how strained things were amongst his ranks. Everyone who had been in the Dark Lord’s Castle when Little One was kidnapped had been locked in and brought back. No one was allowed to leave his Castle until the search was over and the traitor was found. 

Voldemort could tell that everyone was on edge, and the traitor was close to losing it. That was why Voldemort wanted to hold a meeting with Inner Circle so he could figure out just how close they were and see who was under the most suspicion. 

He looked down at the Inferius who was currently sitting in his lap. Voldemort had been sitting in his study for the past hour finishing up the last of his paperwork before he left for the meeting, and Little One had fallen asleep halfway through. 

Voldemort smiled fondly at the child, and gently brushed his black fringe out of his eyes. His eyes trailed over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead with a regretful look. The scar had been his fault, purely by accident, but it didn’t absolve him of the guilt he felt every time he saw it. Voldemort had been duelling, and Little One wandered too close to the platform while he hadn’t been looking. A spell ricocheted off a shield and hit him in the forehead. The fear Voldemort felt when Little One had cried out and saw sluggish blood pouring out of the wound was indescribable. Because Little One was an Inferius, he wasn’t alive and any wounds he received would not heal by itself and whatever amount of blood he had left in his body would slowly pour out until he bled out. Voldemort was forced to heal the wound with magic and leave a scar. Voldemort knew that Little One didn’t blame him for the incident, but he still regretted it. 

(Oh, how he had changed.)

Emerald eyes fluttered open and Voldemort smiled as his precious awoke. “Hello dear heart,” Voldemort cooed as the Inferius blinked sleepily at him. Little One rubbed his nose as he tried to wake himself up. “No, no,” Voldemort shushed. “Go back to sleep. I have to go to a meeting and Negini is out on a hunt. You can sleep in my room until I come back, okay?” 

Voldemort knew that if Little One had been fully awake, he would never have agreed to that, but his drowsiness worked with him, and Little One nodded once before his eyes slipped close once more. 

Voldemort didn’t really feel guilty for manipulating his child. It was necessary. Voldemort needed to go to this meeting, and the last thing he wanted was for Little One to attend it with him. They were going to be discussing the details of his kidnapping and kidnapper, and the last thing Voldemort needed was Little One to regress because of it. 

He stood up, taking care to cradle Little One’s sleeping body gently, and walked across the hall to his bedroom where he tucked his child in sweetly. Voldemort sent one last look at his sleeping child before he swept out of the room, closing the door quietly. 

He walked briskly across his castle to his meeting hall. He opened the door and walked regally to the raised platform where his throne and desk sat. In front of the raised platform sat a semicircle of chairs where his Inner Circle stood. They bowed their heads as Voldemort walked in and did not sit until Voldemort had sat down. 

“Lucius, report.” Voldemort demanded. 

Lucius nodded respectfully and stood. “There were thirty-seven people in your castle on the day of Little One’s kidnapping,” he said. “Three children of your followers, eleven lower level Death Eaters, eight medium ranked Death Eaters, nine upper Death Eaters, and six Inner Circle members.

“Every single person has been locked into the first floor of your castle for the past ten days---save for the three children who we determined had nothing to do with the kidnapping---and we, the Inner Circle, have been keeping an eye on their behavior.” 

When Lucius finished, he bowed his head ever so slightly before he sat back down. Voldemort nodded his head before he looked over to Bellatrix. “Bella, report.” 

Bellatrix smiled, a cruel and sadistic thing, before she jumped up. “My Lord, I have been watching the itsy-bitsy baby Death Eaters,” she said, her voice bleeding into a dreamy tone, one Voldemort was sure was caused by her imagining how best to torture them. “None of them have been acting spotty, but they seem very uncomfortable around me, always running away.” she cackled. 

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Have you cast a _cruciatus_ at them?” 

“Maybe.” Bellatrix giggled madly. “Do you think that’s why they keep running away from me?” 

“Indeed,” Voldemort drawled. “Tell me, Inner Circle, have we come any closer to determining my precious’s kidnapper?” 

The Inner Circle was silent for a moment before Rodolphus Lestrange stood. Voldemort sat back, content to hear his answer, but before he had the chance to speak, a chilling scream rang through the castle halls. 

“NO!” Voldemort gasped, instantly shooting upright, his chair landing with a _crack_ against the stone floor as it fell over from Voldemort’s outburst. 

Everyone had frozen as the scream echoed off the walls, their eyes wide with horror. The sound was high-pitched and full of pure terror. Though no one recognized the sound, they all agreed that it was a scream that did not belong in the Dark Lord’s castle. 

Voldemort, however, _did_ recognize the scream. It was identical to the scream Voldemort heard all those years ago. Down to the very gurgle at the end where the scream was silenced as the screamer choked. 

That was Little One’s scream. 

* * *

This was all Snape’s fault!

If that blasted, slimy, git of a traitor hadn’t brought the monster back, none of this would be happening right now! But instead, the greasy-haired bat got cold feet and sold them out! Oh yes, he knew all about the way Snape tipped the Dark Lord off about the Inferius. How else would he have known that Dumbledore had the thing? 

He didn’t know how Snape had done it, yet, but he was going to find out. He was going to ensure that Snape got caught. It was the only way to keep his own loyalties from being found out! 

He knew that the Dark Lord was searching for the traitor, but his methods weren’t aggressive yet---something he never thought he’d say about the Dark Lord---and if Snape was going to be found out, then something drastic needed to happen. 

He knew that people underestimated him, thought that he wasn’t smart, but he knew the truth. He was always a brilliant student, and even during the war, he survived purely because of his intelligence. He had stood with the side that won, and because of that, he was rewarded handsomely. 

He may have lost a few things in the process, sure, but the rewards outweighed the losses greatly. It wasn’t until much later, when he watched someone very close to him die at the hands of the Dark Lord, did he realize what a mistake he’d made. 

He returned to Dumbledore, begging to be brought back. He wanted the Dark Lord to suffer for what he’d done. Dumbledore took him in but he had to swear his loyalty and promise to stay hidden. No one knew that he was a spy, and that’s why he was the best spy there was. Far better than Snape, who everyone distrusted. 

Everything was going great, too. That is, of course, until Snape ruined everything. He had one job! _One job_! All he had to do was tell Dumbledore the Dark Lord’s weakness, but the traitor was too weak to do it. So he did it instead. 

Everyone who was anyone knew the Dark Lord’s weakness; a green-eyed, mute Inferius called Little One. 

When he told Dumbledore this, his blue eyes had twinkled at the possibilities. At the time, he’d been dismayed to find out that _Snape_ had been tasked with bringing the creature to the Order, but in light of the recent disaster, he was quite pleased with the way things turned out. 

He needed to find a way to get Snape discovered and hide his loyalties all in one step. With the way the investigation was going, that didn’t seem possible. He’d been locked in the Dark Lord’s Castle for the past ten days while members of the Inner Circle watched over them like a hawk, searching for any sign of a traitor. 

He’d seen Snape glossing over people, and he always had to bite back a sneer at the sight. Snape was in the Inner Circle, and he knew the possibility of the Dark Lord investigating his Inner Circle was small. Something huge had to happen in order for the Dark Lord to resort to that. 

Which was why, when he saw the Inferius wandering a deserted hallway absently, no guard in sight, he knew he’d found his chance. 

He slipped his white mask over his faze, ensuring that his face wouldn’t be seen, and descended upon the oblivious Inferius.

He knew that the monster was mute, and couldn’t say anything about what was going to happen, and for that he was grateful. On the off chance that he didn’t finish the job, the Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to discern what happened. 

He slams his closed fist into the back of the Inferius’s head, _hard_. The monster collapses to the ground instantly, a hand reaching up to hold the injured part of it’s head before it slowly turns it’s head. It’s green eyes are wide with fear and he uses the shock to his advantage. 

He kicks the creature’s stomach, smiling gleefully as the Inferius let’s out a silent hiss of pain. He continues to kick at the monster until he’s certain the thing won’t try and run. By now, the creature is curled in on itself into a tight ball, tears streaming down the thing’s cheek. It sobbed silently. 

Now, he didn’t know much about Inferi. What he did know, however, was that they’re dead. It’s incredibly difficult to kill the dead, but not impossible. In order for the Dark Lord to lose trust in everyone, including his Inner Circle, something drastic needs to occur. 

What’s more drastic than the death of his personal monster? 

He scanned over the trembling creature, his eyes greedily soaking in the sight as he searched for a weakness. His gaze zeroed in on the stitches on his neck. It was clear that they were holding the monster’s neck together and connecting the head to the rest of the body. Can Inferi survive without a head? He didn’t think so… 

Ah, close enough! 

He crouched down, his hand instantly slapping away a weak hand that had raised to defend itself, and pinned the decaying monster to the floor. The creature continued to sob silently, no noise escaping save for the panicked bursts of air. He was very lucky that the thing was mute, or he’d have to find a way to silence the thing. 

The emerald eyes were filled with mortal terror, and he had to look away for a moment. He knew that thing he was killing was already dead, he knew that thing was just a mindless monster, but it was hard to look over the child’s body. He knew he wasn’t _actually_ harming a child, but it was difficult to remember that as it was a toddler’s body. 

He sucked in a deep breath, determination filling him, before he tore the first stitch out of it’s neck vigorously. 

If possible, the thing’s eyes widened further. It’s mouth opened on a silent scream and fresh tears poured down the creature’s cheeks. His fingers pulled at the next set of stitches, his fingers slipping from the wetness of the tears. 

There were a total of sixteen stitches running from the nape of it’s neck to the bottom of the thing’s left ear. There were only eight puncture sites, though, as the stitches formed an ‘x’ over the skin. And as each pair of stitches were removed, more of the original wound was revealed. He knew that life-ending injuries that killed an Inferius for the first time could never be healed, magic or no, so that’s how he knew that the Inferius died from some sort of neck-related injury. 

He’d heard whispers of strangulation being the cause of the creature’s death, but if that were the case, why did it have such a large gash running down it’s neck? It looked as though someone had taken a knife and sliced open the thing’s neck. 

The Inferius trembled as he worked, and as he tore out stitches, small pieces of skin broke off with them, as he was tearing them out of the thing’s skin viciously. Blood leaked out of the wound slowly, and he knew it was because the heart was not pumping, and the blood inside the monster was all that was left in it’s body for as long as it was undead. 

As each stitch was removed, the head tilted farther and farther to the right, while the left side of the thing’s neck was torn open. By the time he had torn out of the final stitch, the only thing keeping the creature’s head from falling harshly to the right was his hand, still cradling the monster’s head from when he was working. 

He soaked in the sight before him. 

He was kneeling on the ground, his hand holding the head of the creature while the rest of it’s body lay sprawled out on the floor. The creature was laying in a pool of it’s own blood, and the crimson liquid continued to leak out of the neck wound. The monster was trembling, and the emerald eyes were filled with terror and agony and they were closed halfway as it fought to stay awake, and a continuous stream of tears poured down it’s cheek, leaving streaks of water in the splatters of blood that had landed on it’s face. 

Satisfied, he stood, his hand leaving the supporting position on the creature’s neck. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, all of the blood would leak out of the creature, and it would die for real. 

He watches as the monster’s head flops to the side, and his eyes widen when the skin tears further, opening a larger gap. The creature’s eyes, hazy from pain and exhaustion, snapped open once more, it’s eyes coming into painful awareness. 

He watches with horror as the monster’s mouth opens wide and _screams_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... *Slowly disappears into the shadows* 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads written by Enigmaris  
> This is a fun marvel/HP crossover where Loki is James Potter and Harry does _not_ deal with it very well. This story is really good and it covers the father-son relationship between Harry and James/Loki. (TW for mentioned child abuse) Go check it out!  
> \-------------  
> Bellatrix: Why do they keep running from me?  
> Bellatrix: :'(  
> *Also Bellatrix*  
> Bellatrix: *torturing them* THAT'S RIGHT! SCREAM MAGGOT!


	17. 16: The Murder of Harry J. Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: Child Abuse, Gore_

**_-October 10 1991-_**  
Draco had been sitting in the common room of the Dark Lord’s Castle when he heard the scream. His mother had requested he come home for the weekend and attend the Dark Lord’s castle with her in an attempt to cheer up Little One. When Draco heard that Little One had been rescued, he’d been so relieved. He missed his little brother so much, and he hadn’t been sleeping well from all the worry. 

Despite coming to visit Little One, Draco hadn’t seen the toddler Inferius once. His mother had reassured him, saying that it wasn’t him but the fact that Little One was incredibly weary of everyone. Draco could understand that. Draco supposed that had he been kidnapped, he wouldn’t want to see anyone either. 

So while his mother and father attended a meeting with the Dark Lord, Draco settled into the comfortable armchair and began to read his school books. Draco wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there reading, but when the high pitched scream rang through the air, Draco had been startled to see that the common room was empty. 

Something about the scream set Draco on edge, and he grit his teeth at the feeling. He felt stupid at the way he immediatly felt uneasy at the noise. He was probably overreacting. He stood quickly, his books falling to the floor with a clatter. He was just about to go off and find the origin of the scream when the door to the Dark Lord’s personal Meeting Hall slammed open. Draco jumped at the sudden noise and whipped his head around to see a composed, yet clearly enraged Dark Lord storm out of the room, frantic Inner Circle members following close behind. 

Suddenly, Draco’s bad feeling didn’t seem so stupid. 

“Find him!” the Dark Lord barked. “Find Little One, now!” 

Draco felt ice water wash over him as he realized whose scream that was. Draco’s wide eyes found his mother and she nodded discreetly at Draco’s silent question. Draco sucked in a harsh breath as the thought of Little One screaming made his blood boil. Determination quickly replaced his rage, though, and Draco quickly ran out of the room in search of Little One. 

The scream sounded close by, and Draco figured that it came from one of the halls leading to the back garden. Mother had told Draco that Little One was very weary and isolated, and if Little One were to go anywhere without the Dark Lord, he’d go to the gardens. 

Draco quickly raced towards the first hall and for a moment, Draco wished that he hadn’t been the one to realize where Little One would go. Draco froze in place when he saw the blood. It was pooling on the ground, and Draco couldn’t see where it was coming from as he could only see the blood from around the corner. Heart pounding, Draco turned the corner and fought the urge to vomit. 

It was gruesome. 

His little brother, the most gentle and kind person Draco had ever met, was sprawled out in a tangle of limbs on the cold ground. He gagged at the sight of Little One’s head bent at an awkward angle, and it took Draco a second to understand why. 

_Someone had ripped his stitches out!_

The blood continued to sluggishly exit his neck, adding to the growing crimson wetness staining the ground. Little One’s green eyes were wide with terror and pain, his mouth open on a silent scream. The only noise escaping him were wheezes and a soft gurgle as Little One choked on his own blood. Draco’s stomach rebelled further. 

“Oh Merlin…” he said, tears filling his eyes at the horrific sight. He sucked in a deep breath and screamed for help. He sunk to his knees, his trembling hands stretching out towards Little One. Draco could feel his knees being soaked but he didn’t care. All Draco could think of was what kind of a _monster_ could do something like this? 

The sound of feet pounding against the ground snapped Draco out of his horrified shock. He snapped his head up in time to see his father, Aunt Bella and the Dark Lord come around the corner. His father and Aunt stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening in horrified disgust at the sight of the toddler. 

The Dark Lord, however, is terrifyingly calm in his rage. 

Draco watches as the Dark Lord steps forward, his face composed into a calm mask, yet the _rage_ Draco sees in the Dark Lord’s crimson eyes give away what the Dark Lord is truly feeling. Draco shivers at the look of pure, unadulterated fury in the Dark Lord’s eyes. Never has Draco feared the Dark Lord like he did in that moment. 

Little One wheezes louder at the sight of the Dark Lord, and a choked whimper escapes the Inferius’s lips. Draco suppressed a gag when blood spatters against Little One’s lip. Draco watches as the Dark Lord crouches down next to Little One, and Draco does not fight against the tug on his arm as his father pulls him away from the gruesome scene. 

“Oh, dear heart,” the Dark Lord coos softly. The tone is gentle and soothing, and would seem genuine if his crimson eyes were not alight with a fury Draco never knew could burn so brightly. “Calm yourself, Little One. You will be fine. I’m here.”

Gently, tender in a way Draco had never seen before, the Dark Lord slipped his hands under the toddler. He put one hand under Little One’s head, offering support and keeping Little One’s neck from being jostled even further, while his other hand slipped under his knees. Little One’s damaged neck rested in the crook of the Dark Lord’s elbow while the Dark Lord lifted the toddler off the ground. Another pained whimper left Little One’s lips, and it made Draco’s chest feel unbearably tight. 

With the Inferius safely secured, the Dark Lord turned his gaze towards everyone else. Draco couldn't help but shiver at the mad look in the Dark Lord’s gaze. “Find them.” he commands. They all bow before the Dark Lord turns around and walks away briskly, his strides wide and quick while his footsteps echo across the empty hallway. 

“Draco…” Draco hears his father say softly, but Draco can’t. 

The blood lays in a puddle on the floor, and this time, Draco notices splatters all over the wall as though the person who did this just ripped at Little One without a care. This time, Draco doesn’t have a chance of keeping his stomach. 

Draco doubles over and loses his lunch all over the ground. 

* * *

Voldemort’s hands tremble, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them to stop. 

The rage is overwhelming. Voldemort has never felt such seething anger before. It’s overbearing, it runs through his veins like blood and it makes Voldemort grit his teeth and clench his jaw hard enough for it to pop. Voldemort has never felt this way before. Not even when Little One was kidnapped. This rage… This anger… This impossible desire to destroy whatever did this… _whoever_ did this. 

Yet deep down, Voldemort was lying to himself. This was not the first time he felt this rage.

Little One whimpers softly again, tears sliding down his face and mixing with the blood. It sets Voldemort on edge. He gently places Little One on the medical table. Little One cries out when Voldemort’s hands leave him and Voldemort is quick to shush him. 

“Calm, precious,” he soothes. “I am here. Please, calm yourself. You are safe now. You are safe.” This was not the first time Voldemort was in this position, and the deja vu threatened to overtake him. 

Voldemort waved his hand over his shaking child and the protective magic washes over him. The terrified emerald eyes slip closed and Voldemort lets a small sigh escape his lips as Little One falls into a painless sleep. 

Whoever did this was an idiot, no doubt. It was clear that whoever did this was attempting to kill Little One (Voldemort ignored the flash of hot, white rage at the thought and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.) Whoever did this clearly knew nothing about Inferi, though, or they would’ve used fire to kill him. Lucky for Voldemort and unlucky for the moron who did this. Little One couldn’t die from this, but that didn’t mean that there would be no repercussions for what happened. 

Oh no, whoever did this was going to scream for eternity. 

With trembling hands, Voldemort conjured a muggle needle and thread. He threaded the needle before he turned to his sleeping child. With a wandless _scourgify_ , Little One was clean. The sight made him grip the needle in his hands tightly. Without the blood covering him, Little One looked slightly less gruesome, but the open wound on his neck attested to the horror his precious had endured. 

Because Little One was dead, his body could not repair itself. It also could not produce more blood. Voldemort would need to give Little One dozens of blood replenishers to get his blood levels back to their normal state. As his hands slowly began to stitch the base of Little One’s neck, he found himself wishing that magic could heal this. 

Inferi were tricky pieces of magic. They weren’t really dead but neither were they really alive. And because of that, any injuries sustained after the ritual could be healed with magic, while scars and injuries obtained before the ritual were paused forever---not amount of magic could heal them. 

As Voldemort finished the first stitched ‘x’, the deja vu flashed over him again. The feeling he felt all those years ago returned with a vengeance, and Voldemort breathed out harshly as he felt the anger and pain he thought he’d never have to feel again. 

The feeling he felt that night… The night when he’d been too late…

_-January 3 1984-_

_Finally, after weeks of planning, Voldemort was ready to take his new son home. He’d been coming back almost every night for the past few weeks to see the child Voldemort intended to blood adopt. After that fateful night of December, Voldemort found himself looking forward to spending time with Harry. Voldemort knew it was crazy to feel so strongly towards a child he’d just met, but Voldemort didn’t care. He was a Dark lord and if he wanted a son, then by Merlin, he’d get a son!_

_He apparated with a loud crack in front of the house his little prince had been forced to live in for the past few years. He adjusted his robes and quickly cast a silencing spell around the house. Voldemort knew this was going to get ugly quite fast, as he had no intention of letting those disgusting muggles who abused his son walk free after this._

_He slammed the front door open, a smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to see his son and take him away from here. Tonight was going to be a great night! He was going to save his son and destroy abusive muggle pigs. And Voldemort wouldn’t have it any other way._

_His smile slipped off his face, however, at the sight that greeted him inside the house._

_Before him, a whale of a muggle held his son off the ground by his throat, and his son was barely fighting back, soft choking noises escaping as the muggle strangled him. Rage washed over him like it never had before and Voldemort waved his hand ferociously._

_The muggle slammed into the wall with a force that shook the house. His son went flying in the other direction, but Voldemort was too occupied with destroying the monster that was hurting his son to care._

_Voldemort stalked towards the muggle, his crimson eyes flashing with murderous rage. “_ CRUCIO _!” he snarled, the magic blasting out of him in a way it never had before. The screams the muggle made was music to his ears._

_After ten seconds the muggle’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head and his pounding heart gave out under the stress. The strength of the overpowered unforgivable had killed the muggle. Satisfied with the muggle’s (regrettably quick) death, Voldemort turned at the high pitched screech that came from behind him._

_Standing frozen in the kitchen door was a muggle woman and her heavy son. Voldemort’s eyes flashed at the sight of the pig-like muggle child. The child was his son’s age, yet it was clear who was favored. The child was better dressed and well fed, whereas his son wore rags and looked as though a breeze could blow him over._

_“W-Who are y-you?!” the woman cried, her high pitched voice reminding Voldemort of the whinny a horse made._

_“I’m Harry’s father.” Voldemort hissed, watching with sadistic glee as the horse-woman’s eyes widened with horror. “You dared hurt my son, so I shall repay the favor!”_

_“NO---”_

_Voldemort’s curse left his wand before the woman had the chance to finish her screamed refusal. The pig child squealed like it’s animal counterpart and fell to the ground in a heap. Voldemort chuckled before he lifted the curse. “I am merciful,” Voldemort said softly. He stepped forward, ignoring the horse-woman’s pleas, and crouched down in front of the child. “Do you want the pain to end?”_

_“No! No, please!”_

_The pig child nodded, tears and slobber coating his disgusting face. Voldemort grinned. The green curse left his wand and the child slumped to the ground, no longer breathing. The horse-woman wailed loudly and the noise grated on Voldemort’s ears._

_“_ Crucio _.” Voldemort whispered, relishing in the agonized screams that poured out of her mouth. He held it for almost twenty seconds before the muggle’s heart gave out. Somehow, muggles could never survive the cruciatus. It always ended Voldemort’s revenge too quickly. The second the woman hit the ground, however, Voldemort felt awareness return to him._

_Harry!_

_He turned around, his gaze searching for his son, only for his heart to stop at the sight._

_Harry lay in a pool of crimson liquid, his neck bent at a disgusting angle while his emerald eyes were glazed over and lidded. He was laying in the remains of what seemed to be a china cabinet. A shard of broken china was still sticking out of Harry’s neck._

_“NO!” Voldemort gasped, running to him. His hands grappled for the shard, and his fingers closed around it as he tried to staunch the blood flow. “Harry? Precious? Darling? Please, wake up dear. Harry? Harry!”_

_Voldemort continued to babble, not comprehending a word he was saying. All he could think about was how the blood sluggishly poured out of the wound on his neck and how he couldn’t feel Harry’s heart beating._

_A feeling Voldemort had never felt before washed over him. It was overwhelming, and the waves of the unknown emotion lapped at his mind and threatened to pull him under. His vision tunneled as the sight of his son lying dead assaulted him. Voldemort could hear his ears ringing and Voldemort forced himself to breathe._

_Harry wasn’t breathing._

_Harry’s heart was beating._

_Harry was dead._

_His son was dead._

_His son was_ dead _._

_With a scream of pure agony, Voldemort felt his magic explode out of him. The magic tore apart the house, and as the building around him crumbled, Voldemort threw a protective shield around himself and the cooling body of his son. The unknown emotion racked him, and his body began to tremble. Water dripped down, landing on his son’s cool cheeks with a soft spatter. Tears. Voldemort was… Voldemort was crying?_

_Voldemort sucked in a breath that hitched in the back of his throat. Never had Voldemort felt so… human before. When Voldemort tried to breathe out, a sob escaped his lips._

_“No, no, no, no.” Voldemort repeated, his hands never leaving the wound on his son’s neck. Suddenly, his anger reared it’s head once more._

_That muggle had killed his son! His death was too fast! Too easy! Voldemort needed to make him suffer! He needed to bring back the man who had hurt his son and destroy him for what he did. Make him feel the agony Voldemort felt and multiply it by a million and torture him for eternity. He needed to---_

_Voldemort froze._

_Bring him back… Bring him back… Voldemort could…_

_Determination raced through him, overpowering the grief and rage he felt until his head cleared. He straightened out of the crouch and stood, his hands leaving his son’s neck reluctantly. This would take a lot of magical energy, but it was worth it if he could save his son._

_Voldemort waved his hand and the rubble around him cleared slightly, leaving a clean spot for Voldemort to perform the ritual. Voldemort summoned moon chalk and quickly drew the rune circle that was needed. Voldemort had never felt more lucky than he did right then, the moon was in perfect position for the ritual, and Voldemort had everything he needed with him._

_He could do this. He could save his son. He could bring him back!_

_As Voldemort worked, his magic filled the remnants of the destroyed house, the oppressive power purifying the area and preparing it for the ritual. When Voldemort finished the first round of chanting he stood and walked over to where his son’s body lay._

_He tenderly lifted his child from the ground and carried him to the center of the circle. Placing him on the ground delicately, his hand gently caressed his son’s rapidly cooling cheek. “Soon my precious,” he whispered. “You will be safe.”_

_He stepped out of the circle and got into the position needed to complete the ritual. He bowed down, his forehead resting against his knees as he chanted, his words coming out like a whispered plea._

_Voldemort could feel the very moment when the ritual began to work. His magic flared out at the unexpected pull before Voldemort willed it to corporate. His magic flowed like water into the circle, the runes lighting up with the power. Voldemort could feel his reserves being used as he put everything he had into the ritual._

_At the peak of the ritual, the light of the full moon shone down on the circle. The runners lit up with a blinding light before Voldemort felt a harsh tug on his magic. Voldemort let out a cry as his magic was pulled away from him. Just as quickly as it started, it ended._

_When the light disappeared, Voldemort slowly raised his head, hope flowing through him. His crimson eyes desperately scanned over the fallen form of his son, willing him to move, to do anything to prove that the ritual worked._

_Voldemort felt relief course through him as he saw his son let out a loud gasp before he curled in on himself. Voldemort could feel his body sag as the adrenalin left him and the effects of the ritual hit him. But when he heard his son let out a soft sob, Voldemort forced himself to stand and he quickly made his way over to him._

_He scooped his son into his arms and delighted in the feeling. His son was back! He saved his son! He did it!_

_In his arms, Harry rested fitfully. “Papa.” his son sobbed softly, and Voldemort felt his gaze soften as he looked at his child. Voldemort could tell that the child---newly made Inferius---was exhausted and completely overwhelmed._

_“Calm yourself, precious,” Voldemort whispered, caressing his son’s cheek. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”_

_Voldemort stood in the rubble of a destroyed house, three bodies lying on the ground, half covered by the wreckage. The scent of smoke wafted through the air as small bursts of fire burned around him. Yet through all this, Voldemort had never felt more complete. His crimson eyes drank in the sight greedily, and he could feel his possessiveness rearing its ugly head. Finally, he had his son._

_“You’re safe now.”_

Voldemort blinked, willing the memory out of his mind. Voldemort finished the final stitching, as he cut the final thread. Little One needed four extra stitches to close the wound on his neck, as the barbarian who hurt him had tore his neck farther. 

Voldemort banished the needle and thread before he summoned four bottles of blood replenishers. It was better to start off slow to keep Little One from being in more discomfort than he had to be. He gently poured the potion into his son’s mouth, massaging his throat to help him swallow. Only when all four bottles were in his son’s stomach and Little One’s grey pallor pinked slightly, did Voldemort let exhaustion pull at him. 

The myriad of emotions that fought for control in the past few hours had overwhelmed him, and Voldemort felt a rare moment of weakness wash over him. He had not felt so emotionally compromised in several decades. It was almost pathetic how weak Voldemort felt. 

He had been ignoring it for as long as he could, but seeing his son laying in a medical bed, his eyes closed and still wearing blood stained clothes, Voldemort could fight the feelings no longer. All the pain and terror and concern and fear and anger Voldemort had been repressing for the past few weeks came over him like a tidal wave. Every single emotion that Voldemort had pushed down since Little One’s kidnapping fought for control, and Voldemort could not bear it. 

Voldemort hugged his son’s unconscious body close to him, and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this actually got really intense.... I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Finally, we get Voldemort and Harry's full backstory! 
> 
> **Fanfiction:** The Keeper of Secrets written by Star Polaris on Fanfiction.net  
> This is a super great severitus fic! It's super amazing and its really well written with an incredible plot. Go check it out!  
> \------------------  
> Little One: Papa?  
> Little One: Why you crying?  
> Voldemort: *Hugs Little One*  
> Voldemort: There's dust in my eyes


	18. 17: The Laments of Severus Snape

**_-October 13 1991-_**  
If Little One had been traumatized before, he was utterly shattered now. After Voldemort’s breakdown (and dammit, Voldemort is a Dark Lord, but he’s still entitled to mental breakdowns every now and then!) he refused to leave Little One’s bedside. The Inferius was going to be asleep for a while, as Voldemort wanted him to get as much sleep as possible after the traumatic event, but Voldemort didn’t want to risk leaving him alone. 

This was the second attack against his son, in his own _home_ and Voldemort would not stand for it. 

After Little One woke up the next day, he turned into Voldemort’s shadow. The child refused to be away from Voldemort---at all. Which made for some very uncomfortable bathroom breaks---and Nagini was a full-time babysitter. To be honest, Voldemort didn’t mind it that much, as it made it much easier to keep an eye on the child. Voldemort knew that until the traitor was caught, everyone was going to be on high alert. The most recent attack against his son was brutal and horrifying, and it would look tame in comparison to what Voldemort was going to do to the traitor when he found him. 

The most worrying thing, however, was the way Little One had completely drawn in on himself. Before the attack, Little One was incredibly shy, more so than usual, but he wasn’t outright terrified of his Death Eaters. Now, however, the word _terrified_ was an understatement. Little One was completely and utterly petrified of anyone wearing the traditional Death Eater garb. 

Voldemort knew that it was probably because the traitor had been wearing a mask when he attacked Little One. The thought made Voldemort even angrier. It was like the traitor was mocking him by attacking his most precious disguised as his most faithful. 

It had now been three days since the attack, and Little One had not given out a single flower in that time. Not even to Voldemort. It was terrifying. The persistent thoughts of _what if he doesn’t get better_ never left, and the thoughts were starting to seem more and more true with each passing day. All Voldemort wanted was for his son to get better and for the traitor to suffer for the next eternity. In that order. 

Voldemort let out a regretful sigh. He slowly tidied up the mess of paperwork on his desk, meticulously arranging his things in the way he liked it. He then stood, the movement startling Little One out of his place in the armchair by the fire, and began to make his way towards the door. Little One tripped over his feet in his hasty attempt to match Voldemort’s strides. Voldemort’s eyes softened at the Inferius and leaned down to pull Little One up onto his feet. The child blinked at him before his hand reached out to grip the hem of Voldemort’s robes. 

Voldemort never thought he’d miss Little One’s beaming smile as much as he did right now. 

Voldemort made his way across the castle to his meeting hall, walking slower than normal so Little One could walk comfortably. Voldemort knew that it would be easier if he just carried Little One---and he really wanted to carry Little One. His child was safe in his arms. Nothing could hurt him while he was in Voldemort’s arms. _Nothing_ \---but lately, Little One flinched if he was touched suddenly. Voldemort’s chest always felt tight whenever it happened, so Voldemort made a point to ask Little One before he touched him.

When Voldemort entered his meeting hall, he walked elegantly to his throne. As he sat down, Little One moved to sit with crossed legs by the side of his throne. From this position, Little One had a good view of the door, and was still able to play idly with the hem of Voldemort’s robe. 

One by one, his Inner Circle entered. They all made their way towards their designated chairs, each of them standing in front of them, their heads bowed in a show of respect. The last to enter, Severus Snape, walked briskly to his chair, his hair smelling of potions. At his feet, Little One exhaled a soft breath of air before he stood and awkwardly climbed into Voldemort’s lap.

Voldemort shifted so that Little One could burrow his face into Voldemort’s chest. One hand came to rest on Little One’s back, keeping the child from slipping, while the other rested on his throne regaly. 

“Sit, my followers,” Voldemort commanded. His Inner Circle bowed before they sat in their respective chairs. “Lucius, report.” 

Lucius stood. “My Lord, there was no magical signature at the site of the attack. We’ve had no luck with tracking the traitor through that angle.” 

“And the other angles?” Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowing. 

“The people in the Castle have shown no sign of discomfort,” Lucius said, his tone hesitant as he took in the growing rage on Voldemort’s face. “As you suggested, we did not inform them of Little One’s attack, and no one has been acting out of character.” 

“Bellatrix.” Voldemort said, turning his attention towards the mad woman. She lit up at the sound of her name, and she stood with excitement. “Have you fared better than Lucius?” 

Her face pulled with a frown. “Oh My Lord!” she cried. “They scream and beg for mercy, but they don’t say anything about a traitor!” 

“Have you used _legilimency_?” 

“Yes My Lord!” Bellatrix said, her curls bouncing wildly as she nodded her head vigorously. “None of the worms I’ve tortured know anything about a traitor.”

Voldemort frowned, the hand holding Little One beginning to rub up and down his back in a soothing, mindless gesture. If none of the usual methods were working, it was time to get down to business. 

Originally, Voldemort had intended to let the people who had been in his castle that night stew, and hopefully, the traitor would devolve from the constant anxiety of being caught. The traitor would crack and Voldemort could use him as an example and a way to weed out anymore unfaithful. It would take longer than any other method, but Voldemort was likely to find more spies this way. 

But then the traitor attacked his son. 

Now it was personal. 

Feeling Little One cower in his robes, Voldemort made up his mind. It was time to get serious. If the traitor wanted a fight, then a fight he shall get. Voldemort’s face hardened and he turned to face Severus. 

“Severus.” he said calmly. The potions master stood, his face bowing for a second before the deep onyx eyes came up to meet his. 

“My Lord?” 

“Has the Order contacted you recently?” he asked. 

Severus blinked in obvious confusion at the subject change. “No, My Lord,” he said. “I have not heard from them since Little One was returned.” 

“Do you think the attack on Little One was ordered?” Voldemort asked. 

It was silent for a few seconds as Severus’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. In his arms, Little One trembled. Voldemort ran his hand up and down his back in a comforting and possessive gesture. 

“I don’t believe so, My Lord,” Severus said finally. “Had the Order orchestrated this, it would be an act of war.” 

“Indeed.” Voldemort drawled. “The traitor clearly works for the Order. If the traitor went rogue, I will not decimate the Order and all it’s resources. However if there is even the slightest inkling that the Order was in on this…” 

The threat was left hanging in the air, but based on the uncomfortable shifts of his Inner Circle (and excited bouncing via Bellatrix) they got the picture. Voldemort smirked as his thoughts began to trail down a dark path of torture and retribution. He was going to make them pay for hurting his most cherished. 

“Our methods are taking too long,” Voldemort said, breaking the tense silence. “It is time to get more aggressive with our approach. Severus.” Voldemort turned to face him once more. 

“Yes, My Lord?” 

“How long will it take to brew enough _Versitarium_ to use on everyone in the castle?” he asked. Severus gave the slightest of twitches as the man thought. 

“A week, My Lord,” Severus said. “A week and a half if you intend to include the Inner Circle with the questioning.” 

Voldemort frowned. A lot could happen in a week and a half, but Voldemort wanted to be absolutely thorough. He had no doubt that everyone in his Inner Circle was faithful, but he wanted to appear fair for everyone else in the castle so as not to draw up unnecessary drama. 

“A week and a half, then,” Voldemort said with a dismissive wave of his free hand. “I want it done in that time and not a second more.” 

Severus bowed his head. “It shall be done, My Lord.” 

Voldemort smirked. “Perfect.”

Soon, he thought, bringing his hand up to tousle Little One’s black hair, the traitor will be caught and his precious will be avenged. 

And Voldemort couldn’t wait.

* * *

This was bad. 

Really bad. 

If the Dark Lord tested him with the truth potion, all was lost. There would be no hope for Severus to live. There was no possible way that Severus could survive this. The Dark Lord may be more focused on the traitor that attacked Little One, but he didn’t know that the traitor wasn’t the one to kidnap Little One. This was going downhill so fast. 

Severus growled in frustration, his hand coming up to pull at his greasy hair. Was there any way he could get out of this? Any at all?

Perhaps he could make a faulty batch---no, the Dark Lord would know he tampered with it instantly. Severus Snape does not make mistakes. Then perhaps he could have the antidote on hand? Carry a small bit with him so that when he was questioned, he could nullify the truth serum before it took effect---no, the Dark Lord would search his person for the potion. He was very thorough and with Little One on the line, the Dark Lord would not take any chances. 

There was truly no hope, was there? 

“So that’s it, then?” Severus asked nobody, his eyes searching his empty potions lab for any sign. Anything to tell him that it wasn’t over. 

But there wasn’t one. And Severus knew that it was over. There was simply no way to get around the Dark Lord’s order without outing him as a spy, yet the Dark Lord’s order would out him as a spy regardless. 

Was this… was this karma? 

Was he getting what he deserved? Severus had never been one to believe in such silly superstitions, yet as he sat here lamenting over his past choices, it seemed all too real. Severus had somehow managed to assist in the kidnapping of an innocent child---the child of his dead love, no less---and remain complicit while he was held captive against his will. 

Severus had no part in the attack against Little One, had no idea anyone could be so cruel, yet somehow Severus felt guilty for that too. The traitor worked for Dumbledore, but could Dumbledore have really ordered a hit on Little One? That was the son of two of his followers! It just didn’t make sense. 

Nothing did. 

Severus wished he knew who the traitor was, more so now than before. If he could somehow find out the identity of the traitor who attacked Little One, he could trade that information to the Dark Lord in exchange for his life. 

Severus sat up, his eyes wide. 

That… that could work!

Severus knew that that was a gamble, and there was a fifty/fifty chance that it wouldn’t work. The Dark Lord was very erratic when it came to Little One and his safety. But Severus also knew that if he didn’t, then he would have a one hundred percent chance of being murdered on the spot. 

Severus preferred the former odds. 

Hopefully Severus could get the traitor’s identity. If he did, he could get revenge for Little One and possibly keep his life all at once. Killing two birds with one stone, as it were. Severus sighed, his face pulling into a sharp frown as he dragged his hands down his face. 

Severus was exhausted. 

Seeing Little One always made him exhausted. The child was afraid of him now. Severus should count himself lucky that the Inferius hadn’t told the Dark Lord of his involvement---the proof being that he was still alive---but seeing Little One flinch away from him always made his chest grow tight. 

When Severus entered the meeting today, Little One’s face had paled dramatically at the sight of him, and Severus forced himself to remain indifferent as the child crawled into the Dark Lord’s lap for comfort. Watching the toddler take comfort in the Dark Lord’s arms whenever he was in the room was such a struggle. 

More than once, Severus found himself wishing that he could go back and change things. 

More than once, Severus felt the sharp pain of guilt as he looked into the traumatized emerald eyes of Lily’s son. His only friend’s son murdered and tortured, all for the sake of some war. 

It made him sick. 

Severus lifted his head up to stare at the ceiling before he slipped his eyes closed, using every ounce of willpower to stop the tears from flowing. 

_Oh Lily, forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Also, you guys, this fic is going to be a trip. I'm not joking. Please read the tags cuz the plot has taken off and it's going to get really good soon! (MOD Harry isn't really going to present itself until like, chapter 25, so... sorry bout that) But get ready, cuz this fic is going to take off!
> 
>  **Fanfiction Rec:** A New Place to Stay written by DebsTheSlytherinSnapeFan  
> This is a Severitus fic where Snape takes in Harry for the summer after fourth year and everything changes because of it. It's really well written, so you should totally check it out!  
> \--------------  
> Snape: So... should I still make the potion?  
> Snape: ...  
> Snape: Imma make it just in case


	19. 18: A Traitorous Rat

**_-October 14 1991-_**  
When Kinglsey’s patronus danced into his potions lab, Severus couldn’t believe his luck. After two weeks of radio silence, he is receiving a summons exactly when he needs it! Severus waved away the lynx patronus and quickly put away his potions materials. He had started the preparations for the truth potion, but the Order took priority. (Something Severus never thought he’d say) 

When he stepped through the floo to Order Headquarters, Severus instantly stalked into the kitchen where he knew the rest of the Order would be sitting. Black and Lupin were sitting next to each other, Molly and Arthur sitting across from them. Tonks sat next to Moody who seemed to be mid-rant in security concerns, a politely disinterested Dumbledore sitting at the head of the table. 

Severus slammed his hands down on the table, smirking internally as the Order members jumped. “Did you order the hit?” Severus demanded, his tone biting. 

“My dear boy!” Dumbledore said, a smile gracing his face, his head tilting ever so slightly in confusion. “What are you talking about? Has something happened?” 

“Do _not_ play with me, old man!” Severus hissed. 

“Severus!” Molly cried, her mouth wide with surprise. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Snape?” Black demanded. Severus rounded on him, his glare intensifying tenfold. 

“Funny, you seem to be in a good mood considering _someone_ tried to kill Little One three days ago.” Snape snapped. 

Instantly, any playful mood left over disappeared. Black froze, his face scrunching up with rage as he took in Severus’s words. Lupin’s hand was clutching Black’s shoulder in warning, his eyes flitting between Severus and Black several times. 

“What are you talking about, Severus?” Lupin asked, his eyebrows drawn up in a mixture of concern and anger. 

“Ask Dumbledore!” Severus said with a cruel smirk. “He’s the one who ordered it, I imagine.” 

“Well?” Black asked, snapping his head over to look at a pale Dumbledore. His face was ashen as he took in the scene. “What’s Snape talking about?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Dumbledore said. “Severus, please, explain what’s happened. You say someone tried to kill Harry?” 

Severus grit his teeth. “Your second spy did.” he said, drawing on his ironclad control to keep from cursing the elderly man in front of him. “Ripped the stitches from his neck and left him to bleed out.” 

Black sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening dramatically. “What?!” he cried, his chair clattering to the ground as he stood up. “Is he okay? What happened?” 

“The Dark Lord found him in time, and Little One is okay now.” Severus paused before he turned his head to face Black and gave him a cruel sneer. “Physically, anyway.” 

Black flinched at the jibe but merely turned to glare daggers at Dumbledore. “Did you do this?” he demanded, his fist slamming against the table. The rage being broadcasted off his face would be comical if the situation weren’t so grim. “Did you order the second spy to… to _kill_ Harry?” 

“Of course not!” Dumbledore cried, shaking his head furiously. “My dear boy, I would never do such a thing! Harry is innocent and more importantly a child! I would never order such a heinous act to be committed.” 

“So what happened, then?” Severus demanded. “Did he go rogue? Did he misunderstand an order? Please, shed some light on the situation, Headmaster.” 

“I haven’t the faintest, Severus,” Dumbledore said seriously. “I have not received any word from my second spy since Harry was rescued. I assure you, I have not spoken to him either.” 

“Well thanks to your spy, everything is over.” Severus snarled. 

“What are you talking about?” Moody asked, his magical eye swiveling to stare at Snape while his good eye stared at Dumbledore. Severus pretended that the sight did not disturb him. 

“The Dark Lord is, for lack of a better term, _murderous_.” Severus said, taking in the horrified shivers of the Order members. “He has demanded that I create enough _versitarium_ for all of his Death Eaters. He intends to interrogate everyone---Inner Circle included---for any traitors.” 

It was silent in the kitchen as everyone took in Severus’s words. Dumbledore’s face was grave, his blue eyes holding nothing but horrified resignation. The sight of the man only served to infuriate Severus, and it took him a moment to reign in his anger. 

“Who is he, Albus?” 

Severus looks up in slight surprise to see Lupin standing up, his eyes flashing amber as he obviously struggled to maintain control. Severus was surprised by the rage in the usually passive man’s voice. This was a sight that Severus had not seen in a long time: Furious Remus Lupin. 

“Remus---”

“Who is the second spy, Albus?” Lupin repeated, a growl resonating under his words. 

Dumbledore sighed, his form slumping into his chair as a weary sigh escaped his lips. Severus watched as the man visibly aged in front of him. 

“Peter Pettigrew.” 

* * *

Sirius freezes at the name that leaves the Headmaster’s lips. Beside him, Remus grows silent, his eyes widening further at the mention of their ex-friend. Sirius hadn’t thought about the man in many years, and to hear that name was a great surprise. 

Peter Pettigrew had been a part of Sirius’s friend group for all of his Hogwart years. They had been so close, he, Peter, Remus and James. During the war, Sirius thought that nothing could come between them and their friendship. 

He was proved wrong. 

When James and Lily went into hiding, Lily had been heavily pregnant with Harry. Dumbledore had informed them that there was a prophecy that possibly referred to their unborn son, so for their protection, they went under the fidelius. It had been Sirius’s idea to switch Secret Keepers in order to better protect them, and he figured that Peter was the best bet. 

Sirius was wrong. Peter gave away the secret and outed himself as the traitor, and if the Dark Lord had actually cared about the prophecy, James, Lily and Harry could’ve been killed right then and there. 

When the Dark Lord chose to take over the Ministry rather than go after the Potters, Sirius had never felt more relieved. Peter was a traitor and he was shunned immediately, and after that day, Sirius had never heard from the man again. 

Which was why Sirius was so unbelievably confused. “Peter?” Sirius asked, his head turning to look at the Headmaster in surprise. 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded. “Peter Pettigrew has been one of my inside spies for almost as long as Severus has.” 

“I don’t understand…” Remus said softly, sinking into his chair wearily. 

“Peter was a traitor!” Sirius cried. “Why would you trust him? He sold out Lily and James!” 

“And he came to me after their deaths,” Dumbledore said softly, his blue eyes softening at the confused look in Sirius’s eyes. “Just as Severus did. He begged for redemption. Who was I to turn him away?” 

In the corner, Snape scoffed. “Right,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “That’s why you allowed him back. I’m sure.” The sarcasm was laid on thick, and Sirius couldn’t help the sneer that bled onto his face. 

“But of course!” Dumbledore said, either missing the sarcasm completely or not caring enough to comment. “He has been incredibly valuable to me!” 

“So what, Peter felt guilty because of Lily and James and came back?” Sirius asked, his onyx eyes narrowed dangerously. “As if! If that were true, why would he try to kill Harry?” 

Dumbledore’s eyes saddened at the mention of Harry’s attack, and he folded his hands in front of him. “Peter was unaware of Harry’s true identity.” 

“That’s bullshite!” 

“Sirius!” Molly cried, her eyes wide at Sirius’s language, but Sirius didn’t care. 

“There’s no way he didn’t know!” Sirius continued. “I mean, Harry looks just like James---”

“For the last time, mutt, Little One is _not_ James Potter.” Snape hissed. “Don’t project your feelings onto Little One, it isn’t fair to the child!” 

Sirius felt his face flush with rage. “How dare you?!” he shouted. “I’m not… That’s not what I’m doing! James asked me to be Harry’s godfather! It’s _my_ job to protect him!” 

“And a fine job you’re doing,” Snape bit out. “He’s only been abused, murdered, tortured and god knows what else! Parent of the bloody year!” 

Sirius flinched, and for a second Sirius felt a deep pain in his gut as his thoughts raced over Snape’s words. He was right, of course, Harry had been hurt all because of Sirius’s neglect. If Sirius had simply powered through, ignored Dumbledore, then Harry would be alive and happy with him where he belonged. 

Sirius sucked in a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists at his side. “I just want him to be happy and safe,” Sirius said softly, his firm tone betraying his anger. “And I don’t want to have this conversation with you, _Snivellus_.” 

Snape’s eyes hardened. “Right when I thought you were maturing into an adult.”

“Peter didn’t know?” Remus asked, turning the conversation back to the traitor Sirius looked at his lover with an intensity that gave away his mixed emotions. Remus gave him a soft smile in return, and Sirius felt a small part of his tension ease at the sight. 

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Dumbledore said softly. “I didn’t want to risk him blowing his cover.” 

“Well that played out well, don’t you think?” Snape scoffed. 

“I admit that it did not turn out the way I expected.” Dumbledore said softly and Sirius narrowed his eyes. 

“How did you think it would turn out?” Sirius asked. 

Dumbledore sighed, and Sirius felt his hackles raise at the sight. How dare Dumbledore act so sad! It was his own idiocy that got them into this mess in the first place! Sirius audibly grit his teeth, and he felt Remus place a calming hand on his shoulder. 

“I expected Peter to do recon,” Dumbledore admitted. “See if there was a good opportunity to take Harry.” 

Sirius watched as Snape’s jaw dropped, and for a second, Sirius had to mentally applaud Dumbledore for getting Snape to drop his icy mask. “You intend to kidnap Little One?!” he cried. “Again?!” 

“I do,” Dumbledore nodded. “Harry belongs with Sirius. I intend to bring him home.” 

Snape aggressively rolled his eyes. “Because that worked out so well last time,” he snapped. “Are you utterly mad?!” 

“Never mind that,” Moody barked. “What was your plan to throw the Dark Lord off your trail? He put a warrant out for your arrest last time!” 

“I would’ve thrown suspicion somewhere else.” Dumbledore said simply. 

“You’ve gone barking.” Snape said, his eyes wide. 

“Severus!” Molly cried, her eyes wide. Snape turned to face her, his face contorting into a sneer. 

“Are you capable of saying something _other_ than our names, woman?” he snapped. Molly flushed as red as her hair and shut her mouth, but Sirius could see her rage stewing from here. 

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore said, raising his hands in a placating manner. “Let’s not snap at each other. Please, we must focus on the task at hand.” 

“What task? I thought we were yelling at you!” Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“We must retrieve Harry from the Dark Lord’s grasp,” Dumbledore said confidently. Snape hissed but Sirius was too busy staring at Dumbledore with surprise. “We must find out how to do it.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with Little One?” Snape demanded. “And don’t tell me it’s because of Sirius! Tell me the truth!”

Dumbledore sighed. “I have a theory.” 

“That’s not good enough---” 

“Severus, do you think you could bring Harry back here again?” Dumbledore asked, cutting Snape off mid-rant. 

“What?!” Snape cried, his eyes widening. “Are you utterly insane? I just told you the Dark Lord is going mental because of what Pettigrew did, and you want me to kidnap his son _again_?!” 

“Harry is _not_ the Dark Lord’s son!” Sirius snapped. 

“Stuff a sock in it!” Snape snarled. Sirius flinched back in surprise. He’d never, not once in his entire life, seen Snape so out of shape. The potion’s master was usually cool and collected, aloof and completely disinterested in everything all the time. To see him express so much emotion was so unlike him, it was starling. 

“Severus, it is imperative that we rescue Harry from the Dark Lord’s manipulations---” 

“No.” 

It was silent for a moment, Dumbledore’s eyes widened at Snape’s answer. “W-What?” he cried. 

Snape sucked in a deep breath, his eyes hardening with determination. “I will not kidnap Little One.” he said firmly. “Use the oath against me if you will, but I’m going to die either way as the Dark Lord is currently sniffing out traitors as we speak.” 

Sirius watched wide-eyed as Snape stood up to Dumbledore with a smile on his face. (Well, as close to a smile as Severus Snape could get.) 

“My dear boy, I---” 

“I will not do it, Dumbledore.” Snape said again. Sirius knew that Snape had won then, because there was no way that Dumbledore would force the oath against him. It would cripple Snape or even kill him, and Dumbledore would be down a whole spy and lose his access to Harry. 

Snape had actually won. 

Snape seemed to know it too, as he nodded triumphantly at the Headmaster. “We've done enough to the poor boy,” Snape said firmly. “I will not hurt him further.” 

And with that, Snape turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen, the door slamming shut. Sirius could hear the floo flare to life as Severus left Grimmauld Place. It was silent in the kitchen as everyone processed what just happened. 

Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Well, that was unfortunate.” he said. 

Sirius said nothing, merely relaxing into his lover’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Severus finally stood up to Dumbledore! About time!!!
> 
> Also, I have a question guys. So most of the fic recs I've been giving out have been HP where Harry is adopted or something along those lines. (I did that since they were similar in way, to this fic) but I have a _lot_ of fanfictions to recommend. (Literally. Like, 20 something pages on google docs) So if you had a request for a certain fandom, or even the HP fandom with a specific ship/trope, please comment it down below because I probably have a rec for you. Or if you are cool with the random recs I've been giving, that's cool too. Just lemme know! :) 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Whelp written by jharad17 on Fanfiction.net  
> So this is an incredible severitus fic where Snape rescues Harry from the Dursleys. (SERIOUS TW!! I'm not kidding. This story features very graphic physical abuse to a child!!!) it's a very heart wrenching story complete with a sequel! It's very good, and if you can stomach the abuse, (It's only for a few chapters) then I seriously recommend it!  
> \-----------------  
> Severus: Holy shit  
> Severus: I can't believe that worked!


	20. 19: The Dark Lord's Wrath Part I

**_-October 15 1991-_**  
Severus could not believe he was about to do this. To be honest, Severus couldn’t believe a lot of things that had happened. The fact that the so-called “spy” that Dumbledore had been hiding for years had been one of his tormentors from childhood---one he’d overlooked hundreds of times because no one thought Peter Pettigrew was anything more than a snivelling coward. The fact that when Severus brought it up, Dumbledore had written it off like it was nothing. (Though, Severus really _shouldn’t_ be surprised about that, considering he did that during Severus’s Hogwarts years whenever the marauders did anything) But the thing that was most surprising was the fact that Severus had finally stood up to the old coot. 

Severus smirked thinking about it. It was so therapeutic, putting that senile old man in his place, Severus kind of wished he’d done it sooner. It was a great risk, sure, to openly dare him to use the oath, but logically, Severus knew he’d never do it. It would mean killing him in front of his precious Order---all of whom believe that he could do no wrong, and especially never murder a member---as well as losing a spy. Somehow, Severus figured that Dumbledore wasn’t too confident in relying solely on Pettigrew for information. 

Not that he’d be around for much longer. 

Inadvertently reminding himself of what he was about to do, Severus sucked in a shaky breath. He was really doing this, wasn’t he? He took a look around his home, a brush of nostalgia curling up in the back of his mind. 

Spinner’s End was by no means a lovely place. It held horrid memories from his childhood full of sadness, anger and terror. The decaying walls of his childhood home were scuffed and scratch, and Severus could recall perfectly how each dent in the walls got there---usually from his head being slammed too hard into it. This was the home where he was abused mercilessly, where his mother was murdered. 

But there were good memories here, too, however slim. This was the place where he met Lily---sweet, innocent Lily. The first real friend Severus ever had, he met on the muggle swing set down the street---and this was the place where he and his mother danced to the old muggle radio in the garage. The place where he would braid his mother’s hair and the place where he was taught potions. 

Yes, there were many memories here, both good and bad. Severus found himself reminiscing as he sat in the rickety old chair by the fireplace. From his seat he could see the morning rays peak through his age-old curtains, bathing the kitchen in a warm and comforting glow. The light reflected off the vase sitting in the middle of the table and it danced around the room. Sitting in the vase was a wilting Lily flower, the last flower he’d received from Little One over a month ago, in it’s final stages. 

The sight of the nearly dead flower sobered Severus instantly. It was almost as if it were taunting him. The dead flower sitting in the old house at the end of a dying street with nothing but a bitter man to care for it. A bitter man that might not be alive for much longer. 

Severus sighed and stood from his chair, the old chair legs making a harsh scraping noise against the hearth of the fireplace. He’d put it off for as long as he could, but now it was time to face the music. 

Severus allowed himself one final look at his home before he flooed to the Dark Lord’s Castle. 

The atmosphere in the Castle was stifling, and Severus winced at the fearful glances that were thrown his way from the current occupants. The search for the traitor was still going, and it was clear from the trembling of the occupants' hands that Bellatrix was going overboard in her search. 

Severus forced an indifferent mask onto his face to hide the fear he felt on the inside. It was almost second nature to him now, and Severus walked with the confidence he usually portrayed, not giving away any of his true emotions. 

“Mipsy.” Severus said calmly, turning to face the House Elf that popped in to stand beside him. “Please inform the Dark Lord that I request an audience with him.” 

“Mipsy be doing that for you sir!” Mipsy chirped, curtsying quickly before popping away. 

Severus stood in place calmly, his cool eyes wandering over the other people in the room with him. He was standing in the Welcoming Hall of the Dark Lord’s Castle, so there were only a couple other people. One was a low-tier Death Eater awkwardly reading a book by the door, trying to avoid Severus’s gaze, while the other was a mid-tier Death Eater who was attempting to coerce the other to duel him. 

“The Dark Lord be waiting in the Meeting Hall, sir!” Mipsy said, popping out in front of Severus. “I be taking you now!” 

Severus forced himself to calm down, the fear rising up like bile in the back of his throat. This was it. This was actually happening. It was too late to back out now. 

Severus followed the House Elf through the castle, his eyes straying towards the large windows so that he could catch a glimpse of the sun and flowers outside. Mipsy stopped in front of the grand, ornate doors that led to the Meeting Hall. 

“He be in there, sir!” Mipsy squeaked. Severus nodded and she curtsies once before she pops away. Severus breathed in once, shakily exhaling before he pushed open the doors. 

The Dark Lord sat in his stone throne, the desk and other chairs that were usually in the room were gone, leaving nothing for Severus to hide behind should he need to. The Dark Lord was calm, and Severus couldn’t help the small bit of relief that bled through him at the sight of Little One sitting in his lap. 

The Inferius was sitting on the Dark Lord’s lap, his legs falling over his knees, his face staring stubbornly at the wall, a single hand coming up to play with the Dark Lord’s collar absentmindedly. The toddler hadn’t turned at his entrance, so Little One didn’t know that it was him. Severus took the small mercy. 

“Why have you asked for me, Severus?” the Dark Lord asked, his crimson eyes studying Severus. “Is there a problem with the _versitarium_?” 

Severus winced ever so slightly, and he clenched his hands into fists. “There is no problem, My Lord.” 

“Then why am I here?” the Dark Lord demanded. 

Here goes nothing. “My Lord,” Severus said shakily, and Severus clenched his fists tighter to hide the trembling. “I have found the identity of the traitor.” 

It was silent for a long time, and Severus risked a glance up at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his possessive grip on Little One tightening. The toddler paid no mind to the grip, his blank eyes not leaving the wall.

“Who.” he hissed. Severus swallowed nervously, and for the first time since he was but a child, he prayed. 

“I request a boon, My Lord.” he said, keeping the fear out of his voice. The Dark Lord stared at him for a moment before his head tilted downward in the slightest movement. Severus continued. “I request… mercy, My Lord.” 

The Dark Lord stilled, and Severus risked another look upwards to see the Dark Lord’s calculating gaze. This, of course, was the moment Little One decided to look at him and his eyes widened ever so slightly and burrowed deeper into the Dark Lord’s chest. Severus could see the moment when the Dark Lord connected the two dots. His grip on Little One tightened ever further while his eyes flashed with rage. 

“You dare---” 

“I was not the traitor who harmed Little One, My Lord.” Severus rushed out. 

“Yet you do not deny you are a traitor.” the Dark Lord demanded. Severus flinched at the deadly tone. 

“There was a raid,” Severus said softly. The Dark Lord’s eye bore into Severus, silently demanding an explanation. “In 1981, My Lord, on Diagon Alley. My best friend, the love of my life, she was killed by a Death Eater during the raid.” The Dark Lord was silent, but there was no mistaking the fury in his Lord’s eyes. “I… I strayed. I was so angry and hurt… I turned to Dumbledore in a moment of weakness. He took advantage of my grief and forced me to swear an unbreakable vow to his cause.” 

The Dark Lord seethed and Severus trembled as the incredibly dangerous man hissed at him. In his arms, Little One squirmed and the Dark Lord began to pet his hair softly, and Severus could tell that it was the only thing keeping the Dark Lord from killing him where he stood.

Severus breathed in before he continued shakily. “I have searched tirelessly for ways out of it and found none.” 

“Your story, while _heartbreaking_ \---” the Dark Lord spoke with unflinching rage. “---is of no interest to me. Is there a point, Snape?” 

Severus winced at the Dark Lord’s use of his last name. That wasn’t good. Of course, Severus knew that there was no possible way Severus was getting out of this with the Dark Lord’s favor, however he’d hoped… Severus took a deep breath, the oxygen filling his lungs and allowing him the strength to continue. 

“I was ordered to take Little One to the Order---” 

The dark Lord exploded, and hisses of rage spewed from his mouth. Severus screamed as the _cruciatus_ hit him. The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Severus had suffered under the curse before, several times in fact. Most of them coming from the Dark Lord himself! Yet this curse was more painful than all of those combined. The enraged and murderous intent behind the curse made it all the stronger. Severus had wrongly assumed that he would not be tortured in the presence of Little One, as the Dark Lord was insistent in sheltering the Inferius. 

He greatly misjudged the Dark Lord’s fury and protectiveness. 

When the curse was finally lifted, Severus trembled, his muscles spasming. When Severus had finally regained enough coherency to control his limbs, he pulled himself from the ground into a low bow and continued. 

“I kept him safe from harm, made sure no one hurt him while he was there, My Lord. The worst that happened to the child there was his confusion as to where he was. Nothing more.” Severus said, hoping that that tidbit of information would be enough to keep him from being slaughtered.

“And yet,” the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes the same color as the blood in Severus that the Dark Lord no doubt wished would spill. The Dark Lord had maneuvered the Inferius so that he was facing the Dark Lord’s chest, unable to see what was happening to Severus. The Dark Lord continued to run his fingers through Little One’s hair, his gentle ministrations contrasting greatly from the torture that he just administered. “My precious seems terrified of you. Why?” 

Severus winced. “I believe that he no longer trusts me, My Lord. He believes that I will take him from you again.” 

Severus screeched as he was cursed once more, his body spasming against the unforgiving floor as the torture racked his body. 

“The point.” the Dark Lord demanded plainly. Severus swallowed back the blood pooling in his mouth and nodded. 

“I am fully on your side, My Lord, and I will do everything I can to get out of the vow.” Severus said, forcing his shaking limbs into a bow once more. 

“ _Why_?” the Dark Lord demanded, his words bordering on parseltongue. 

Severus swallowed dryly and allowed himself to meet the Dark Lord’s gaze. Onyx met crimson, as pleading met murderous intent.

“Because my dead friend, the love of my life?” Severus said softly. “Little One is her son.” 

* * *

Voldemort said nothing as he stared at the traitor before him. The worthless rat trembled in the silence, no doubt preparing himself for another round of the _cruciatus_. In his arms, Little One was silent. Voldemort allowed the pliant body of his child to ground him, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes. 

So, Snape had figured out Little One’s old identity. Unsurprising, given his allegiance. Dumbledore knew who Little One used to be, so the Order must as well. Voldemort was _not_ happy about that. The less who knew about Little One, the better. It would be incredibly difficult to protect Little One if all of his secrets were common knowledge. 

As for Snape, this would be difficult. He was a traitor---the thought sending a flash of rage through him---and could no longer be trusted. He was the one who kidnapped Little One and brought him to the Order in the first place, but not the one who tried to kill his precious. According to him, anyway. But why should Voldemort trust him? 

If what Snape said was true, then Voldemort knew that he could trust in his desire to keep Little One safe. Love made people weak and gullible and easy to manipulate. Love for a dead person made them even more so. The vow, however, would be tricky. 

If Snape was under a vow, his loyalties would be split no matter who he truly believed. As much as Voldemort despised Dumbledore, he was smart. The vow was a genius way to keep Snape in check. Voldemort really ought to do that. It would save him quite a bit of trouble. 

Voldemort lifted his hand, ignoring the flinch that Snape gave in return, and allowed his head to rest on his free hand. His face adopted a cold mask, and his other hand moved to hold Little One’s back in a possessive gesture. 

“Very well, Snape.” Voldemort said, his harsh face making Snape jump. “I accept your offer.” 

Snape looked up at him, his eyes betraying his surprise. “My Lord?” 

“I will not kill you,” Voldemort continued. “In exchange for my mercy, I demand the identity of my precious’s attacker.” 

Voldemort could see the relief shining through Snape’s mask, and the potion’s master nodded gratefully. “Of course, My Lord.” he said. “The traitor who attacked Little One was Peter Pettigrew.” 

Voldemort felt his body tremble with rage. Hearing the name of the person who attacked his child only reminded him of the horrific feeling he had while he stitched his child back together. Voldemort recognized the name, and a face flashed in his mind. 

Peter Pettigrew was a low level Death Eater from the war, and in the years that followed, he never climbed the ranks like most do. Voldemort had never given the man much thought, as he could practically smell the man’s uselessness. To know that he’d been a traitor this whole time only made Voldemort’s fingers twitch with the urge to maim. 

“Do you know the reason behind the attack?” Voldemort asked calmly. 

“Dumbledore claims that he did not order the attack,” Snape said. “It would appear that Pettigrew went rogue. He was unaware of Little One’s true identity.” 

Voldemort nodded curtly. “You are dismissed.” he said blankly. Snape blanched at the tone, but nodded nonetheless. The man stood and walked briskly towards the doors. He had reached out a hand to open the door when Voldemort called him again. 

“My Lord?” he asked, turning to face him, a brief flash of fear on his face. 

“Stay in the Castle.” he demanded. “I will come find you later so that we might discuss your… _punishment_.” 

Snape shivered in fear but stood his ground. He nodded and bowed once before he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. With the newly found traitor out of the room, Voldemort allowed himself to relax. 

He sunk into the throne, his grip on Little One tightening as he buried his face into his child’s black locks. Little One reached up to wrap his arms around his neck in a mock embrace. Voldemort felt himself calm down in the comforting embrace of his child. Holding Little One, knowing that he was safe allowed Voldemort the peace of mind he needed to plot. 

Voldemort knew who hurt his child, and now he could finally get his revenge. The familiar feeling of rage and homicidal desire curled up in his gut and Voldemort’s deadly smirk was hidden in his child’s mop of hair. 

“Do not fret, dear one,” Voldemort whispered softly, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Little One’s head. “I will have my revenge soon.” 

A deadly, half-crazed smile bled across Voldemort’s face. 

“He will _scream_ for what he’s done to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY!! Get ready guys, cause we finally get to see the traitor get what he deserves!!!!!! 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** His Darkest Devotion written by Lomonaaeren  
> This is a Tomarry soulmate AU where Tom is the Minister. This is honestly one of the best Tomarry soulmate AUs out there, and I seriously recommend it. I was on the edge of my seat after every chapter! I'm serious, this book does not quit! Go check it out!  
> \-----------------  
> Pettigrew: *full body shiver*


	21. 20: The Dark Lord's Wrath Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: SERIOUS GORE! (I'm not kidding. I went a little overboard)_

**_-October 15 1991-_**  
Sirius isn’t ashamed to admit that he joined the Order purely out of spite. When Sirius was thrown out of his home, he vowed that he would do everything he could to bring shame to the Black family name (not that they needed much help with that) and hopefully, drive his mother into an early grave. So he’d run off with Jame’s parents, a predominantly light family, had become an auror focused on fighting Dark Wizards, joined the Order of the Phoenix to fight against the Dark Lord that his mother loved so much, used his childhood home as the meeting place, even. 

Yet, as the years passed and Sirius lost more and more to the war and his spite, Sirius found himself regretting a lot of things. The biggest thing Sirius regretted was listening to that old man when he told Sirius not to take Harry. Had Sirius just put his foot down, Harry would be alive and the Dark Lord wouldn’t be so bloody obsessed with his precious godson. 

Sirius had often thought of leaving the Order. He was an auror still, despite his involvement in the last war, but Sirius knew that if it got out that he was still involved with the Order, he could lose his job. Or even worse, he could be sent on a year long mission out of the country again. Somehow, though, he never really made any moves to leave the organization. 

Now everything was changing. The Order was steadily losing its influence and power, and when the Order returned Harry to the Dark Lord, Sirius knew it was time to make changes. Sirius had sat in his room while Dumbledore gave his precious godson to the Dark Lord, his lover holding him as he sobbed. It was at that moment that Sirius realized, Dumbledore could not offer him what he needed. 

At first, Dumbledore offered them a place to fight against the Dark Lord. When the Dark Lord won the war and the world changed accordingly, Sirius assumed that Dumbledore would have a plan to take back Wizarding Britain. (He didn’t.) Over time, Sirius watches as the Order meetings grew less and less frequent while the information they shared grew less and less important and eventually, they were named rebels and outlaws to the public and whatever power the Order had, vanished. 

The Order could no longer provide Sirius with the things he needed. They could not offer him protection---not whilst they ran from the law like rats hiding in sewers. They could not offer him family---not whilst they returned the last member of Sirius’s broken family like he was nothing more than a package to barter with. No, the Order could not do what it promised, so why should Sirius stay?

It all came to a head, however, when Snape barged in and accused Dumbledore of ordering a hit against Harry. Even if Dumbledore denied it, the truth of the matter was simple: Dumbledore had a secret spy whom they all knew nothing about. Said spy attacked and attempted to kill Harry. No matter how you look at it, Dumbledore looks guilty. Pair that with the knowledge that Dumbledore left Harry in an abusive home and everytime Sirius tried to come for him, Dumbledore would step in along with Dumbledore’s creepy obsession with Harry… 

No, Dumbledore was hiding something. And Sirius wanted no part in it. 

It was time. 

“Remus.” Sirius called from his comfortable place on the couch. He heard the rattling in the kitchen cease as his lover stopped making dinner to walk into the den where Sirius sat. 

“What is it?” Remus asked, looking at him in concern. Sirius knew that he looked grim, but Sirius could not force himself to calm down and smile to ease his lover’s anxiety. “What’s going on?” 

“We need to talk.” Sirius said firmly. 

“Not something you ever want to hear,” Remus said with a nervous chuckle. He sat down in the armchair across from him and folded his hands into his lap. “What’s going on, Siri?” 

“When I saw Harry for the first time,” Sirius said softly, looking into his lover’s hazel eyes. “I cannot describe the love I felt. And when Jamie asked me to be godfather…” Sirius smiled at the memory. 

“Sirius…?” Remus asked softly, drawing Sirius back to attention. He cleared his throat and blinked back the tears as he continued. 

“When I thought we lost Harry,” Sirius said softly. “That feeling of emptiness that was left by Lily and James’s death just multiplied. It was so hard back then, trying to get through all of that.” 

Remus nodded, and Sirius knew that in that moment, Remus was reliving those months in his head. How hard it was for the both of them when they realized that Harry wouldn’t be living with them. How hard it was for Sirius to deal with the grief and the burden he placed on Remus as he struggled to cope. 

“Seeing Harry again… Seeing him again was the greatest gift I could’ve ever asked for,” Sirius said, his voice thick with emotion. Remus looked up at him then, and Sirius smiled shakily at the sight of tears rolling down his cheeks. “And having to give him back again. Having to lose him _again_ ,” Sirius’s voice broke and Remus clenched his hands. “That feeling… it was much worse than it ever had been before.” 

“Padfoot…” Remus said softly, and he stood up from his place at the armchair to sit next to Sirius and wrap him up in a hug. Sirius leaned into his lover’s embrace and took a deep breath before he continued. 

“Moony I don’t think I can keep doing this,” Sirius admitted. Remus’s grip on him tightened. “Back and forth, Remmie, we just keep going back and forth. They keep saying that we’re gonna get him back but… but… Harry wasn’t happy here with us.” 

That was the hardest part, too. Admitting it. But Sirius knew that Harry wasn’t happy here when he was with them. He knew that Harry was happier with the Dark Lord, and as selfish as Sirius was, as much as he wished he could, Sirius wouldn’t take him from that. All Sirius wanted was for Harry to be happy. And if he couldn’t be happy with them… 

Sirius let out a heavy sigh. “Remus, let’s be honest here. What are we doing?” 

“Sirius?”

“The war is over. It’s _been_ over for so long now,” Sirius said, turning so that he could face Remus. “The Dark Lord isn’t enslaving muggles, he isn’t abusing Muggle-borns. He hasn’t persecuted creatures. Hasn’t hunted for rebels. Hell, he let me keep my job as an auror despite the fact that I was against him in the war!” 

“What are you saying?” Remus asked carefully, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 

Sirius sighed, his hands dragging down his face. “Why are we still doing this, Moony? I mean, really, what has the Order done for us?”

“I thought we were fighting against a dictator.” Remus said. Sirius scoffed. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, the Dark Lord isn’t a dictator.” Sirius exclaimed. “He doesn’t even show up in public. I mean, bloody hell Remmie, Fudge is still the Minister! Besides fixing the Ministry so it’s less corrupt, what has the Dark Lord even done?” 

“Well he hasn’t done any of the things the Order said he would.” Remus conceded softly. 

“See? This is what I’m talking about!” Sirius cried. “In my opinion, the Dark Lord isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to this place.” 

“So what are you saying, Siri?” Remus asked. 

Sirius bit his lip, an image of Lily and James flashing through his mind. They believed in the Order’s cause, but they didn’t live long enough to see the change the Dark Lord did to the country. They left Sirius in charge of their son and Sirius would be damned if he didn’t do his job. His eyes hardened with determination. 

“Harry is happy with the Dark Lord and all I want is to do is my duty as Harry’s godfather,” Sirius said. “And you know what they say… If you can’t beat ‘em, _join_ ‘em.” 

* * *

The Inner Circle sits impatiently around him, everyone glancing around the room as they wait for Voldemort to say something. He called them to his castle and Voldemort knew that they were eagerly awaiting his orders. He can tell that they are nervous by the way they risk glances at his arms and take note of something missing. Little One refused to be away from Voldemort so the sight of him (or lack thereof) in his arms made them on edge. 

Voldemort had placed Little One in his bed swing and left Nagini with him under strict orders not to let him out of her sight. Voldemort had spelled the door shut so that no one could enter, and even then, should someone break into the room, Nagini would bite to kill. Little One had protested, of course, but Voldemort was insistent that he stay there. 

He didn’t need his precious seeing what was about to happen. 

“My prized followers,” Voldemort said, breaking the tense silence. “I come bearing great news. The traitor that attacked Little One has been identified and _you all will help with his punishment_!” 

It was silent for a moment before Bellatrix’s crazed laughter filled the room. Voldemort watched with sadistic glee as his followers slowly began to smirk. He knew that they were all coming up with ways to torture and maim the man that dared to harm Little One. 

Voldemort snapped his finger and a House Elf entered the room with a loud pop. “Fetch the rat and bring him here.” Voldemort ordered. The elf bowed before he popped away, only to arrive a second later, a bound and gagged man in tow. 

His followers eyed the traitor with deadly smirks and Voldemort floated the unconscious rat to the floor. He woke him with a spell and watched with glee as the man went through a sea of emotions. First confusion, then awareness followed by terror, and horror at the situation he found himself in. 

Voldemort leaned forward in his throne, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously at him. “Hello Peter Pettigrew,” Voldemort said slowly, watching as said man flinched at Voldemort’s tone. “I’m so very glad I could invite you to this party.” 

Voldemort waved his hand when the rat began to mumble frantically against his gag, and the cloth in his mouth disappeared. “M-My Lord… p-please I, I s-swear that I am b-but loyal to y-you!” 

Voldemort looked over the rat’s shoulder to where Bellatrix stood, bouncing back and forth on the heels of her feet. Voldemort tipped his head down slowly at her and Bellatrix cackled at the permission and instantly fired a _cruciatus_ at the trembling man. 

Hearing the traitor that ripped apart his most precious scream and writhe about on the floor in agony was a fantastic sound. Voldemort grinned as Pettigrew flopped about on the floor like a fish out of water, his ugly face turning an interesting shade of purple as he struggled to breathe in air. 

Regretfully though, Voldemort raised his hand to stop her. He didn’t want the man to suffocate to death, oh no, that was much too quick. The man who ripped open Little One’s neck did not deserve such mercy. 

“Be honest with your Lord,” Voldemort said carefully, reclining back into his throne. “Did you enjoy attacking an innocent and harmless toddler?” 

Pettigrew sobbed against the stone floor, and Voldemort's face scrunched with disgust at the sight. “P-Please.” he whispered softly. 

Voldemort looked to Lucius and nodded at him. Lucius grinned and cast the torture curse again, and the traitor’s screams echoed across the meeting hall. One more Voldemort stopped the curse just as Pettigrew appeared to suffocate. 

“What possessed you to do such an idiot thing, I wonder?” Voldemort continued. “You must have known I would find you.” 

“I---... I…” Pettigrew choked on his spit as he sobbed out incoherent words. 

Voldemort tutted in mock disapproval before he stood. He snapped his fingers at the two Lestranges in the corner and they were at his side instantly. Rodolphus held the rat’s left arm while Rabastian held the right. Pettigrew whimpered and Voldemort leaned closer to the man with a deadly smirk. 

“What did you do first, hmm?” Voldemort asked. “How did it play out? Did you just start ripping at his stitches or did you incapacitate him first?” 

“M-My Lord, please I---”

“ _ANSWER ME_!” Voldemort screamed, his fury-filled words bouncing off the walls. Pettigrew violently flinched away from him and sucked in a shaky breath before he opened his mouth on a sob. 

“I… I hit h-him first, My L-Lord.” Pettigrew said in a nearly silent whisper. 

Voldemort hummed in contemplation for a moment before he nodded. Without warning Voldemort whipped his first forward and smashed it against his nose. Pettigrew’s nose made a satisfying crunch against his first and blood spurted out of him like a faucet. Pettigrew let out a hoarse scream before he choked on his blood, forcing him to spit it out. 

“Like that?” Voldemort asked in a dangerous whisper. Pettigrew whimpered. “I asked you a _question_.” Voldemort snarled. 

“Yes My Lord.” Pettigrew responded, his teeth stained with blood. 

“What else did you do to my child, rat?” Voldemort demanded. 

Pettigrew trembled against the Lestrange’s hold. “M-My Lord, p-please, I b-beg you---” 

“Do _not_ try my patience.” 

Voldemort’s eyes were deadly and the room was silent---save for the agonized whimpers of Pettigrew---as the Inner Circle watched the sadistic Lord come out to play. It had been a great many years since they’d seen this side of the man, and they were all anxious to see what the Dark Lord would do to the man. 

“I… I kicked him, M-My Lord,” Pettigrew admitted. “In the stomach.” 

“Would anyone like to do the honors?” Voldemort asked, looking up at the sea of his Inner Circle. Bellatrix giggled madly as she jumped up and down. “Bella, my dear, would you like to play?” 

Pettigrew’s breathing noticeably increased as the man began to hyperventilate. Bellatrix merely squealed happily. “Oh thank you, My Lord!” she cried before skipping over to the trembling man. “I wore my special heels today!” she cried, lifting her dress to show dangerously pointed shoes made from daggers. The heel of the shoe was quite literally a throwing knife. Pettigrew let out a panicked sob. 

“Go on then, my dear,” Voldemort said with a sadistic smirk. “You’ve been so good lately. You deserve a reward.” 

Bella giggled before she suddenly spun around, slamming her foot into Pettigrew’s large belly. The high-pitched squeal the rat let out could match that of a pig. Bellatrix paid no mind to the agonized screams as she continued to kick him, each kick ending with her heel being plunged into the man’s gut. 

After nearly five minutes, Voldemort stopped her. Bellatrix pouted but nodded, stepping away from the rat. Her dress was covered in spatters of blood, and she left bloody footprints on the stone floor as she walked back to her place at the chairs. 

Voldemort’s crimson eyes traveled over the traitor’s trembling body. There were numerous puncture wounds on his gut, each one dribbling out bits of blood. The man’s face was pale as he let out coarse whimpers. Blood stained the floor as he stood in a pool of it, and Voldemort noticed that the blood had splattered all over the Lestrange’s pant legs. 

“What else did you do, hmm?” Voldemort asked, gliding over to where he stood. (Stood was too strong of a word. Hanging limply in the hold of the Lestrange’s was much more accurate.) 

Pettigrew let out a silent sob. “I… I’m s-s-sorry!” 

“On no, no, no,” Voldemort tutted. “Buck up, Pettigrew, it’s not over yet. Come now, tell me what else you to my precious.” The gentle tone seemed to scare the man even more as he let out a louder whimper. 

“I… I r-ripped out h-his s-stitches!” Pettigrew said in between gasps. Voldemort hummed, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the pathetic man in front of him. 

He stepped away. “You know, I despise muggles. They are everything wrong with humanity,” he said. “They destroy the planet they live in, fight amongst themselves for petty reasons like the color of their skin or which god they believe in. They rape their women and they slaughter their men and abuse their children, all the while cursing that which they don’t see for their wrong doings. Never once do they take responsibility for their actions, instead choosing to blame someone else for their misfortune.” 

He turned around to see his Inner Circle looking at him curiously while Pettigrew let out harsh gasps as he lost more and more blood. “I do not hate muggles for their lack of magic,” he continues. “Oh no, I am fascinated by the way they continue to expand despite having no magic.” 

He sighed and walked back to Pettigrew, his hand snapping forward to seize his jaw and turn it so that Pettigrew’s eyes could meet his. “Do you know why I hate muggles, rat?” Voldemort asked. Pettigrew whimpered. “Go on, ask me.” 

“W-Why?” 

Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “Because they are hypocrites.” he said with a laugh. “They destroy and they take and they ruin and never once do they try to fix. To save. To heal. As if they were in a loop, doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, never learning from the last heinous act they commited. 

“They’ve become so good at destroying and torturing and killing, in fact,” Voldemort continued. “That they invented machines to do it for them. They’re really quite effective, you know. They inflict quite a bit of pain. Would you like to see?” 

“No, no, no, no,” Pettigrew began to whisper over and over again, blood dribbling down his cheek. “Please, please.” 

Voldemort waved his hand, an image popping into his head as he conjured it. The machine sat heavy in his hand. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. “It’s called a bone-saw. Muggles use it to quite literally _saw bone_. I’ve never tried it before, but I hear that it works rather well. Would you be a dear and try this for me?” 

Pettigrew’s eyes shot wide open, his mouth opening on a silent scream as the machine turned on. When the saw hit his shoulder, however, the scream turned out to be quite loud. Blood splattered everywhere as the machine drilled through his flesh. There was a loud thump as his arm collided with the floor before Voldemort vanished the machine. 

“Oh dear,” Voldemort said with a sigh. “I believe he’s going to bleed out rather fast. Have your fun with him while you can, I suppose.” 

Pettigrew’s screams filled the air once more as his Inner Circle began to cast several _cruciatus_ at him at once. Voldemort watched as the traitor that hurt his child screamed in pure agony for the last time before his heart gave out. 

Voldemort sighed and took in the mess around him. Blood covered most of the floor, a single severed arm laying in a large pool of it. Pettigrew’s slowly cooling body lay in a heap right next to Bellatrix who continued to jump on him, despite him being dead. Voldemort looked down at himself to see that he was covered in blood. 

“Mipsy.” Voldemort said calmly. The House Elf popped into the room and let out a high-pitched squeak at the sight. “Clean this up, will you? Feed Nagini the body.” 

“Mipsy be doing so, Dark Lord,” Mipsy said with a stuttered curtsy. “Right away!” 

Voldemort allowed himself one last look at the mess before he walked away. Everyone in the castle gave him a wide berth as he walked past, each one looking at him with wide eyes as they took in his appearance. He walked up the stairs to his personal wing where he entered his bedroom and walked quickly to the bathroom. 

Voldemort washed the blood off his hands and face, watching with satisfaction as the water turned pink before it went down the drain. He vanished the blood off his clothes before he set them to be washed, donning a simple robe that he could wear to sleep. 

He then walked into Little One’s bedroom to see Little One deeply asleep in the bed swing, Nagini coiled around him protectively. Voldemort sent her away with promises of a large meal before he lifted the sleeping child into his arms. 

“You’re safe now, precious,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. “Safe now.” 

He walked back into his room before he tucked the sleeping Inferius into his bed, Voldemort settling in next to him, a protective arm wrapped around him. 

Voldemort slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing scarier than a calm and collected, homicidal Voldemort. Change my mind. 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** I don't want to be Scrooge! written by Belsmomaus  
> This is a marvel fic where Howard get's a wake up call about the way he treats Tony. This is a really good fic and it honestly made me cry! Go check it out!  
> \------------  
> Author: *Hides face in hands*  
> Author: I've never written something so gorey before smh!!!  
> Author: was it okay?


	22. 21: An Interesting Offer

**_-October 16 1991-_**  
“So how should we do this?” Remus asked, his scarred hands wringing at the hem of his shirt nervously. “I mean… we can’t exactly walk up to the Dark Lord, can we?” 

Sirius smiled encouragingly at his lover, walking up to him to grasp his hands gently. He gave them a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry,” he said with a soft smile. “Everything is going to be fine.” 

“I just… this is a big change, Siri,” Remus said softly, his hazel eyes drifting to the floor. “Can… can we really do this?” 

Sirius sighed, one hand dropping Remus’s so that he could cup his face. He lifted Remus’s jaw, forcing his lover’s gaze to meet his. At the sight of the nervous hazel orbs, Sirius smiled sweetly at him. He gently pressed a kiss to his lover’s, and after a second, he pulled away. 

“I promise, Remmie,” he whispered, letting his forehead rest against Remus’s. “Everything is going to be okay. This is going to be good for us.” 

Remus took in a shaky breath before he nodded. “You’re right,” he responded, smiling at him nervously. “I’m just a little weary.”

Sirius pulled away with a chuckle. “So am I,” he said. “But if we want to have a part in Harry’s life… we have to do this.” 

The couple stood next to each other in silence for a few seconds before Remus broke it. “What do we do?” he asked, looking to Sirius. 

“We need to find a way to get in touch with the Dark Lord,” Sirius said, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought. “It has to be inconspicuous, too. We don’t want the Order to find out about this.” 

“Whyever not?” Remus asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if they hear it from us?” 

“Moony, why would the Dark Lord let us join his ranks if we didn’t have anything to offer?” Sirius answered with another question. Remus stayed silent and Sirius took that as a sign to continue. If I were the Dark Lord, and someone had just kidnapped and attempted to kill Harry, I’d be really suspicious of everyone who was in contact with him. He’s not going to want to let ex-Order members just waltz into his ranks.” 

“So how are we going to convince him that we’re serious?” Remus asked. “And don’t make a name joke, please.” Remus added quickly, stopping Sirius mid-joke. 

Sirius pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“Come on Siri,” Remus said. “How do we do this? If the Dark Lord won’t let us in his ranks---”

“Oh, but he will!” Sirius said quickly. “After all, wouldn’t _you_ want more spies?” 

Remus stared at Sirius, his eyes wide. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Well actually---”

“Do _not_.” Remus said firmly, and Sirius’s mouth snapped shut. “Sirius, really? You want us to sell out our friends?!” 

“Do you have a better option?!” Sirius cried, crossing his arms defensibly. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal---”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Remus scoffed. 

“---but this is the only way!” Sirius continued. Sirius let out a harsh breath before he sighed, his hands dragging down his face in a nervous gesture. “Look. This isn’t what we want to do, I know, but we can’t convince the Dark Lord to let us join without this.” 

“It’s just… they’re our _friends_.” Remus said softly, his gaze drifting back down to the floor. “And we have to betray them so we can stay with our family. Nobody wins here.” 

“It’s the only way…” Sirius repeated. “The only way.” 

Remus breathed in deeply, and Sirius pretended he didn’t hear the hitch in his breath. Sirius looked at his lover, suddenly nervous. Would… Would this be the deal breaker? Sirius was going to do this, no matter how much it hurt, because he _needed_ to be with his godson. Would Remus disagree? 

“So…” Remus said softly, his eyes lifting from the floor to meet Sirius’s. Sirius’s heart stopped. “How are we going to do this?” 

Sirius let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and let out a sharp, nervous chuckle. “Well…”

Remus narrowed his eyes.

* * *

“This is _never_ going to work!” Remus cried, looking at Sirius incredulously. 

They were standing outside of Knockturn Alley, cloaks covering their faces, as they waited. Sirius chuckled beside him, a hand slipping out of his cloak to clutch Remus’s. No one bothered to look at them, too used to seeing shady people in this area. They blended in perfectly, and that was exactly what they wanted. 

“It will.” Sirius insisted. “Have some faith.” 

Remus scoffed, but before he had the chance to retort, Sirius yanked on his hand and pulled him deeper into Knockturn Alley. Remu glanced up to see a flash of white. It appeared their target had arrived. 

They followed him at a safe distance, waiting until he was alone for a chance to speak with him. Said man quickly turned down an empty corridor, and Sirius pulled on him a little harder so that they could keep up. 

They entered the corridor only to pause at the empty sight. The man was gone. Sirius let out a harsh breath. 

“Hell…” Sirius said, his fist clenching at his side. 

Suddenly they were flung backwards, magic pressing them into the stone wall. Remus grunted on impact, and the cloaks protecting their identities were vanished, their faces clear as day to the world. Remus struggled, but the magic pressing him against the wall was too strong. They were stuck. 

Lucius Malfoy stepped out of a covered alcove, shadows melting away from him as he walked. His aristocratic face sneered, and Remus forced himself to calm down as the man they’d been following, leaned down to get in their faces. 

“Why were you following me, hmm?” he asked. “Hoping to find some information for that old man?” 

“No, we---” Remus attempted to speak but his mouth was spelled shut. 

“Sirius Black,” Lucius said, not sparing Remus a second glance. “Such a shame to see a mighty bloodline fall so far.” 

“Nice to see you too, Lucy,” Sirius sneered. Lucius scoffed at him. “Look, we’re not here for Dumbledore.” 

“Oh?” Lucius said, feigning interest. 

“We need to see your Master.” Sirius said firmly. At this, Lucius paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced over the pair. It was silent in the alley for a long time before Lucius spoke again. 

“And why would you need to see him?” Lucius asked finally, his hands coming up to cross over his chest. 

“We want to join him.” Sirius said. This time, Lucius was unable to contain his surprise. His silver eyes widened slightly, and he stared at them for a second too long before he let out an unusually indignant snort. 

“ _You_ want to join the _Dark Lord_?” he asked, bemusement shining on his features. 

“Please,” Sirius said softly, pride shining through his onyx eyes as he was forced to beg. Remus sighed softly. Lucius looked intrigued. “We don’t trust Dumbledore anymore. He’s hiding something… Please, take us to meet your master. We just want a chance.” 

Lucius was silent, and Remus couldn’t help but cross his fingers in his head. If Lucius refused, they’d be done for. They had no other way to get to the Dark Lord directly without alerting the Order of their true intentions. 

“Very well,” Lucius said finally. Remus and Sirius let out sighs of relief before they slumped to the ground, the magic holding them up disappearing. “Come with me and I shall take you to him.” 

“Thank you.” Sirius said softly, helping Remus stand up. Remus nodded at Lucius gratefully but Lucius merely scoffed. 

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “I can’t guarantee the Dark Lord won’t slaughter you on sight.” 

“We’ll take that chance.” Remus said softly. Sirius nodded beside him. 

“Then you are greater fools than I thought.” Lucius said simply. 

They followed Lucius silently, the only noise coming from the trio were from Lucius’s clicking footfalls. They followed him deeper into Knockturn Alley where he led them to a shop hidden in the very back. He led them through the shop, Remus pointedly ignoring the incredibly dark merchandise, and followed the Malfoy Patriarch to the back where the fireplaces were located. 

Lucius picked up a handful of floo powder before he pressed it to his forearm where the Dark Mark sat. The floo powder turned from light green to deep red before Lucius threw it into the fireplace and called out, “The Dark Lord’s Castle.” 

The fire roared red and at Sirius and Remus’s questioning glance he said, “Public floss aren’t connected to the Castle, lest the _riff-raff_ get in,” he said with a disgusted sneer. “There are extra precautions to ensure the security.” 

Sirius and Remus said nothing and Lucius gestured for them to step through. Remus shared a weary glance with his lover before he stepped through the fire. Remus shuddered at the disorienting sensation before he stepped out of the connected fireplace and looked around, gathering his bearings. 

He was standing in a grand hall, dozens of fireplaces lining the walls. The hall was intricately decorated, banners and expensive tables with decor, adding to the grandeur of the hall. Remus turned when the fireplace flared twice more and Sirius and Lucius stepped out. 

“Nice place…” Sirius said quietly. Lucius snorted once more. 

“Come.” he said plainly. Remus and Sirius followed the man, Remus’s eyes widening as he took in the castle. It was, for lack of a better word, _magnificent_. Everything about the place screamed powerful, and Remus couldn’t help the awe that filled his being. “Mipsy.” 

Remus started at the pop signaling the entrance of a house elf. Said elf curtsied in front of them and looked to Lucius for instructions. 

“Inform the Dark Lord that there are two… _persons of interest_ who wish to see him.” Lucius said. Remus stiffened at the title Lucius gave them and shot another nervous look at Sirius. Sirius smiled at him, albeit shakily, and nodded. 

“Right away, Master, Mipsy be doing that!” Mipsy said, popping away. They stood in silence for several seconds before the elf returned. “The Dark Lord be wishing to see them in his Meeting Hall.” 

“Follow me.” Lucius said, nodding at the elf. Remus and Sirius followed the man through the beautiful halls, and Remus found his eyes straying towards the grand windows on the farside of the castle that displayed the beautiful gardens outside. Lucius stopped outside a pair of grand, wood doors. The deep red wood had metal flourishes on them, and the looping, crossing metal intersected in a braided pattern at the handles. “The Dark Lord is waiting for you in there.” 

“Thank you,” Remus whispered softly, his eyes not leaving the intricate door handles. “For everything.” 

Lucius gave a curt nod. “Good luck.” and with that, the Malfoy Patriarch stalked away, his robes billowing gracefully behind him. 

Remus breathed in shakily and looked at Sirius. Sirius gave him a soft smile. “Ready?” he asked. 

“As I’ll ever be.” Remus answered. Remus’s hands trembled as he pulled the door handles. 

His senses were instantly assaulted by the sheer power that was radiating from the room. The hall in question was just as grand as the others, but this one was clearly more practical. Several chairs lined the wall and directly in front of them lay a raised platform where a large stone throne sat. Sitting comfortably in said throne, the Dark Lord, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as took in the pair. 

“Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.” the Dark Lord said. Remus shivered as his name passed the Dark Lord’s lips, the pure hatred in his tone sending gooseflesh down his spine. “Why have you come to see me? Answer very carefully.” 

Sirius sank to his knees, a hand shooting up to grab Remus’s arm and pull him into a bow. Remus conceded and his pride bubbled dangerously in the back of his throat as he bowed to the man responsible for so many deaths. 

“We… we have come to join your ranks… My Lord,” Sirius said, his gaze staying steady on the floor. Remus was honestly impressed with how Sirius was handling himself. “We offer ourselves as spies for the Order.”

A dangerous chuckle escaped the Dark Lord. “Spies, you say?” he said. “What use have I for more spies? As of lately, spies are quite low on my wish list.” 

“Please,” Remus said, his words low in volume but high in determination. His strong tone rang through the empty hall. “Dumbledore is not who we thought him to be. He is hiding something incredibly important from us. He… He has not given us what he promised---”

“And you think I can provide what he has failed to?” the Dark Lord asked, amusement laced deep within his words. “Even if I could, tell me, _why should I_?” 

“Because we are closer to the Order than Snive---Snape.” Sirius said. “We are privy to information he is not. They have never once questioned our loyalty.” 

“I find it interesting that you would switch sides just like that,” the Dark Lord mused. “For someone who faithfully served the Order for years, something very drastic must have happened to change your mind. Tell me what it is.” 

Though it was phrased as a question, Remus knew better. The demand rang heavy through the stone halls and Remus shuddered under the weight of it. “Dumbledore insisted that a child that should have rightfully gone to Sirius, was placed in an abusive home.” Remus said. 

Suddenly the temperature dropped. Remus risked a glance upwards to see the Dark Lord leaning forward in his throne, his eyes trained on the pair with an indecipherable emotion. “Oh?” he said, subtly compelling them to continue. 

“He’s been strangely obsessed with him,” Sirius picked up. “We… we recently found out what happened to the child. Dumbledore did nothing to stop it.” 

“And what _exactly_ happened to the child?” the Dark Lord said, his crimson eyes narrowed to the point of slits. 

“I think you know… My Lord.” Sirius dared to say, lifting his head. “After all, _you_ were the one to rescue my godson. _You_ brought him back to life.” 

* * *

Voldemort eyed the pair with interest. Black’s gaze did not waiver, even when Voldemort met his eyes with his own. The proud man stood strong, and Voldemort found it to be incredibly amusing. Lupin was looking between Black and himself with wide eyes, and it only added to the amusement that tickled him. 

What did _not_ amuse him, however, were the words that Black had spoken. 

“I will warn you once, Black,” he hissed. “Watch what you say.” 

Black nodded once, his eyes glancing away from his, thus breaking the staring contest. “Seeing Harry again…” Black continued. Voldemort bristled at the use of his precious’s old name. “It was all we ever wanted. Dumbledore promised us that he’d get him back---” 

Voldemort’s magic flared out dangerously, and the pair in front of him choked under the suffocating pressure. That old man had promised them _what_? It appeared that Dumbledore was far more idiotic than he’d thought. Voldemort would relish in the man’s death. 

“Tread _carefully_.” Voldemort said, and though he spoke quietly, his magic multiplied the sound, making it sound all the more dangerous. 

“W-We realized that it would be impossible for us to see our godson again if we stayed with Dumbledore,” Lupin said nervously. “So we decided to come to you instead.” 

“You’ve come to join me, offering to sell out the people you call _friends_ \---” Voldemort noted the flinch Lupin gave at that. “---all in the hopes that I’ll allow you to see _my child_?” 

Black opened his mouth but Voldemort refused to let him comment. “Shut. Your. Mouth. Black. Little One is _my_ child and if you think that you can come here and stake some sort of _claim_ on him because you think you have a right, you are dead wrong. And soon, you’ll only be dead. I don’t care if the people that brought my precious into this world named you godfather. They are not here. _You_ were not there as my precious suffered under the ruthless muggles. _You_ weren’t there when he was murdered. _You_ weren’t there as he struggled to cope with his trauma. _You weren’t there_.” Voldemort snarled. “But _I_ was. Do you know what that makes me? That makes _me_ his _father_. If you wish to continue breathing, I’d watch what you say.” 

Black and Lupin trembled, Voldemort’s rage only served to fuel his flaring magic, and the temperature in the room dropped to icy as his rage continued to explode out of him. The sheer nerve of the man in front of him made his fingers twitch with the desire to kill. 

How _dare_ they come here and insinuate that they can take Little One away from him? Little One was _his_ child and he’d gladly rip them apart before they could so much as speak to him. Voldemort audibly ground his teeth together, and the pair shivered. 

“We… w-we don’t mean to take him from you,” Lupin spoke. Voldemort trained his eyes on the werewolf. “We simply want the chance to see him. Get to know him. We swear!” 

“You have nothing to offer me,” Voldemort responded evenly. “I don’t trust you in the slightest, especially not around my child. Tell me right now why I should accept your offer?” 

“He recognized us,” Black spoke suddenly. Voldemort raised a delicate eyebrow. “Har--- _Little One_ did. He… He knew who we were. He said that he _missed_ us.”

Smoldering jealousy reared its ugly head. Voldemort stiffened at the thought of his precious missing someone other than him. His fingers clenched around the stone armrest, and Voldemort forced himself to maintain an air of indifference. 

“And?” he asked. 

“You claim to be his father,” Black said, and Voldemort felt his hackles rise at the word ‘claim’. Voldemort _is_ Little One’s father, no one could claim otherwise. “Fathers always put their children’s needs first. Do you put Little One’s needs first?”

Voldemort stood up, his hand automatically whipping out his wand to point it at Black menacingly. “How _dare_ you insinuate otherwise---”

“If Little One needed us,” Black rushed out quickly, his hands raising defensibly. “Would you allow us to join you? If Little One missed his Uncles Moony and Padfoot, would you welcome us into your ranks? For the sake of your child?” 

Voldemort swallowed the lump in his throat, the idea of Little One missing, _wanting_ , _~~needing~~_ someone other than him making his stomach roll with rage. But… But… Voldemort could concede that he would do what was necessary to make his precious happy. And if Little One needed Black and Lupin to be happy… 

Voldemort straightened his back, and when his posture was perfect, he crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head to narrow his blood-red eyes at the pair. (Voldemort knew that the pure loathing he felt for the pair was broadcasted plainly on his face) 

“For Little One,” he said carefully. “I will _consider_ your offer.” 

Voldemort watched as Lupin and Black sagged with visible relief. A shaky smile spread across the couple’s faces, and Voldemort longed to ruin their hope, longed to destroy them for daring to be here. 

“This is not a definite yes,” Voldemort added, watching with sick glee as the hopeful expressions on their faces died quickly. “And should you join, you will be watched constantly. I do not trust you. Should you be allowed to see Little One… you will be watched then, too.” 

Black nodded nervously. “Thank you… My Lord.” 

Voldemort smirked at Black’s obvious discomfort with the title. “Now,” he said firmly. “Get out of my Castle. If I have need for you, you will be summoned.” 

They nodded and quickly made their escape, and Voldemort waited until the doors clicked shut to release his pent up fury. His magic flared out and the room’s furniture smashed to bits. He ground his teeth together, his magic flaring dangerously. 

Black and Lupin… They were brave to come here (or stupid) and Voldemort found their Gryffindor tendencies to be utterly exhausting. No one had ever dared to say the things Black said to him, especially not to his face.The small part of him that found the behavior to be refreshing was instantly overtaken by his possessive rage at their insolent request. 

Voldemort could reluctantly admit that having two extra spies in the Order would be incredibly helpful to him, but of all his options, did it _have_ to be the pair with a connection to Little One’s old life? 

Voldemort sucked in a harsh breath, his hands dragging down his face before they came up to smoothe his hair down on his scalp. Voldemort reigned in his magic and sat down on his throne. He waved his hand and repaired all the damage that had been done seconds earlier. 

As loathe as Voldemort was to admit it, this was a good offer that he should consider. Obviously he’d have someone watching the pair twenty-four/seven---after all, they used to be loyal to the Order. No matter their reasons for coming to the dark, they had too many connections to the Order to just ignore. 

If he was going to do this… He would have to let them see Little One. Familiar possessiveness rose up in his chest, but Voldemort pushed it away. Even if Little One got close to the couple, he would always call _him_ ‘Papa’. No matter how hard they might try to sway Little One, Voldemort raised him. 

Little One would always be _his_. 

Voldemort let out another sigh before he leaned his head against his hand. “Get ready,” he said no one, a smirk bleeding across his face as plans came together in his mind. “Black, Lupin… Get ready.” 

Ah yes, it was all coming together now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, get ready all, shit's about to hit the fan. Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a kudos and a review, they really inspire me to keep writing! 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Custos Vitae written by Silver_Ivy  
> This is a tomarry fic where Harry uses a ritual to thwart Voldemort's plans, and somehow ends up trapped with the Dark Lord and the unlikely pair fall in love. This fic also has fanfiction recommendations at the end of every chapter, (I got this idea from this fic) so I suggest you go check it out!!!  
> \---------------  
> Sirius: I think that went well  
> Meanwhile Voldemort: I'm going to _kill_ you while you sleep, Black!


	23. 22: The Greater Good

**_-October 17 1991-_**  
Everything was steadily falling apart. Albus didn’t know how it had gotten so bad, so quickly. When the war with Voldemort had first started, Albus was confident in his ability to stop it. Despite their heavy losses, the Light side still held most of the public’s approval during the war. Yet, everything changed when the prophecy arrived. 

When Albus had sat down that day in the pub, he wasn’t prepared for what would follow. Was not prepared to witness an event that would change the tides of the war. It was just a teaching interview, for Merlin’s sake! 

But that day, when Trelawney had spoken in her dazed whisper, a prophecy concerning the Dark Lord and a mystery baby, Albus knew that everything was changing. Albus had hoped that this would mark the ending of the war. 

(And it did, just not in the favor he’d hoped for.)

Albus had rushed to protect the possible baby. There were only two couples that fit the prophecy: the Potters and the Longbottoms. Albus was so certain that the Dark Lord would attack them, and he insisted they go into hiding. It made sense at the time, of course, as the Dark Lord wasn’t known for his planned and level-headed attacks. 

So they went into hiding. Both the Potters and the Longbottoms went under Fidelius, despite the fact that neither baby had been born yet, and Dumbledore prepared his armies for the ultimate battle that was sure to follow. After all, if a baby was prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord, surely the Dark Lord would attempt to defeat it before it was even born. 

Yet, months passed, and no attack occurred. 

Albus knew that the Dark Lord knew of the prophecy---there were too many ears that day in the pub for him _not_ to know---yet, nothing happened. Albus was convinced that the Dark Lord was merely biding his time, waiting for Albus to relax and let the two couples out of hiding before he would attack. 

But as more and more weeks passed, Albus became less sure. 

When Albus had heard from the Potters that their Secret Keeper, Peter Pettigrew, had betrayed them to the Dark Lord, Albus had rushed to their cottage in Godric’s Hollow as fast as he possibly could. He prayed that he would not be too late for the attack that was going to occur. 

He wasn’t late because no such attack occurred. 

When the Dark Lord didn’t attack them, despite knowing their location, choosing instead to infiltrate the ministry, Albus knew he’d been beaten. Because he’d been so focused on the prophecy and protecting the possible candidates, Voldemort had taken advantage of his lenience and took control of the Ministry right under his nose. 

As more and more years passed, Voldemort gained control of the public---Magical Republic of the British Isles---and his New Ministry was changed to avoid corruption and discrimination, more of his followers left for the Dark. They saw the changes that they’d wanted for years come to pass under the new leadership and decided that they didn’t want to fight a war that had already been won. 

Despite all of that, Albus kept an eye on the two prophecy children. Convincing Sirius that Harry was best raised with his muggle relatives was a struggle, but he’d managed. Neville, on the other hand, was stuck with his grandma despite his best efforts. But as the years passed, and Voldemort showed no interest in either child, Albus began to doubt. 

The prophecy was rather convenient, Albus decided. It was done at a job interview for the Divination post at Hogwarts, and Trelawney had never spoken another prophecy after that. Albus supposed that there was a possibility that the prophecy had been faked, and if that were the case, and Voldemort knew this, then it was no wonder why he’d never gone after the children. 

Albus was convinced it was a fake, however, after Harry Potter went missing when he was four years old. Albus had apparated to Privet Drive after Sirius had fallen into a fitful sleep the night he was supposed to bring Harry home, and scoured the area for any sign of Voldemort’s magical signature. 

He found nothing. 

It was as though Harry had never been there. (It was as though _nothing_ had ever been there) The only proof that anyone had lived in the area was the burnt out husk of a house and the scattered remains of a ritual circle. It was too damaged for Albus to tell what ritual had been done, but if he had to hazard a guess, Albus would say it was a Pass of Rite Ritual. 

The Pass of Rite Ritual was a ritual performed in traditional Pure-Blood families when a family member passed away. It was similar to the Final Rites that muggles performed on their dead. It appeared as though Harry Potter had passed away and his family performed the ritual to send him off. (Albus felt a small pang of melancholy at the thought. Lily must have shared the ritual with his muggle sister. They must have been close, like Albus had been with Ariana before… before everything) 

When Harry Potter passed away, and nothing happened to Magical Britain, Albus knew that the prophecy was faked. It was rather frustrating, of course, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And because Trelawney already had the position, Albus saw no reason to get rid of her. 

And so life continued on as usual. Albus still held Order meetings with whoever stayed with him, and even eleven years later, Albus continued to fight against the Dark Lord. Albus knew that despite all of the so-called “Good” Voldemort had done, deep down, nothing had changed. He was still the cruel little boy he’d always been. And Albus knew that to leave Magical Britain in the hands of Tom Riddle was to leave Magical Britain in the hands of death. 

However, everything changed once again, when Harry Potter was found. 

When Albus had been informed that Voldemort had an Inferius son, he’d been quite disturbed. He assumed that the creature was either controlling the Dark Lord, or was being controlled and was in need of rescuing. He had no idea that the Inferius was actually Harry Potter. 

To see the child who he’d assumed was long dead, walking around, the Dark Lord’s magical signature pouring off his in waves, Albus had nearly choked. He had stared at him for a long time, watching the toddler hand out flowers to everyone with a critical eye. 

He knew, the very second he laid eyes on him, that the prophecy had been real this whole time. 

Never had Albus felt so lucky. He had inadvertently retrieved the child of the prophecy, who was at the perfect age to mold into the perfect hero. Sure, it would be a bit of a struggle because he was an Inferius, but Albus had a plan. 

He would wait until the Inferius began to devolve from lack of magic, and when he was at his very worst, Albus would perform the ritual himself. This way, the Dark Lord’s magic would be cleansed from him, and in its place, Albus’s magic would rest. The Inferius would be grateful to him, and would no doubt bond himself to Albus. (That was how the Dark Lord got the Inferius to follow him, no doubt.)

But it was ruined when the Dark Lord sent out a warrant for his arrest. Albus had guessed that Voldemort would be anxious to have his weapon returned to him, and Severus’s warnings about how possessive Voldemort was of the child only served to convince him further. He wasn’t expecting, however, for Voldemort to go so public with his demand. 

To be arrested was to lose his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and to lose his position was to lose his power and in turn, lose the war. As desperate as he was to keep Harry with him, he couldn’t afford the price. 

Not yet, anyway. 

So Albus was forced to return Harry to the Dark Lord. And what a show! Albus had never been more surprised by Tom in his entire life! Watching the pair interact, Albus could almost believe that Voldemort loved the child. 

If Albus hadn’t known that Voldemort was incapable of love, he would have!

When The Dark Lord apparated away, Harry in tow, Albus knew right then and there that Harry was the child of the prophecy. Voldemort was obsessed with him, and he’d marked him as an equal. Albus had always assumed the mark part of the prophecy would be a physical thing, but this made much more sense. After all, what better way to mark someone than with your own magic? 

Yes, Harry Potter was the prophecy child and he must be returned to the side of the light. 

For the Greater Good.

* * *

Voldemort absently swiped at a fly that was buzzing irritatingly in his ear. He was hot, uncomfortably so, and the ground was damp against his bottom. Despite this, though, Voldemort was content. 

In front of him, Little One giggled silently and chased a butterfly that Voldemort conjured with his magic. He watched with a fond smile on his face as his child danced around the back garden and stretched out his little fingers in the direction of the butterfly. Voldemort covered his smile with his hand when Little One froze, hoping to entice the butterfly to land on his finger. 

It felt good to see Little One act so at ease. After the attack, seeing something as simple as Little One smiling was a treat. Little One was always afraid now, and any smiling he did seemed stilted and fake. Like the ones he wore when he lived with those damned muggles. Voldemort hated the very sight of it. So seeing Little One actually smile made Voldemort feel a weird bubbling sensation in his gut.

As much as Voldemort wished he could sit here in content silence forever, he was on a mission. 

Yesterday, Voldemort had been approached by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin with an intriguing offer. As much as Voldemort wanted to dig his heels into the ground and refuse, he could not deny how helpful two extra spies in the Order would be. Even though the war was over, the Order was persistent in their efforts to ruin him. It was beginning to get irritating. 

At first, Voldemort found their continued efforts to be amusing. It wasn’t until they’d kidnapped his precious that Voldemort began to feel rage towards them. Now that his child had been attacked by their organization twice, Voldemort wanted to _end_ them. 

That didn’t mean he was happy, though. In fact, Voldemort was just the opposite. Especially because the two spies in question held ties to his precious. And Black’s words… 

Voldemort grit his teeth as he thought about the conversation he had with Black about Voldemort’s position as Little One’s father. Voldemort wasn’t afraid that Little One would like the couple more than him (Not even a little bit. ~~Although he knew them from before the abuse and those were good memories.~~ ) Voldemort knew that he was the most important person in Little One’s life, just as it should be, and no matter what they did, they could not change that. 

But even still… 

“Papa?” 

Voldemort looked up, startled out of his musings by a gentle pat on his cheek. He smiled when he saw Little One standing in front of him, a concerned look resting on his face. Little One’s anxiety eased slightly when he saw Voldemort’s smile, and Voldemort pressed a soft kiss to Little One’s rosy cheek. 

“Yes, precious?” he asked, petting his head softly. 

“What you think’in ‘bout?” Little One asked, his voice coming out in a soft whisper. 

“What do you know about Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, dear one?” Voldemort asked. Little One tilted his head in confusion, and Voldemort cooed internally when his precious’s eyebrows furrowed adorably as he thought. When it was clear he didn’t recognize the name, Voldemort racked his brain to remember the ridiculous names that Black had called themselves. “... Do you know Padfoot and Moony?” he asked. 

Voldemort bit back a frown at the excited grin that spread across his child’s face. “Uncle Padfoot an’ Uncle Moony?” 

“That’s it, precious,” Voldemort said, refusing to let his disappointment show on his face. Voldemort didn’t like seeing his child so excited about someone that wasn’t him. “Do you know them?” 

Little One nodded. “Stay wif’ them for days and days, Papa!” Little One said, a small whine escaping him as he stretched his arms wide as if to show how long he was away. 

“I remember,” Voldemort nodded, a hint of bitterness bleeding into his tone. “Were… Were you happy around them?” 

Voldemort almost dreaded the answer. He watched, a weird tightness building in his chest, as Little One frowned in thought. Finally, Little One said, “Missed you.” 

Voldemort let a fond smile rest on his lips as he pulled Little One in for a close hug. “I missed you too, dearest,” he said. “Were you afraid around them? Did they hurt you?” 

“Silly Papa,” Little One whispered, his tiny hands coming up to play with Voldemort’s fingers. “Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony _never_ hurt me!” 

Voldemort hated the strange feeling that came over him at that statement. Equal parts of him were both angered and relieved at the statement. Anger because Little One seemed happy to be talking about the couple, and relief because the couple had protected Little One when he couldn’t. The contradicting emotions made Voldemort clench his fists.

“Would you like to see them again?” Voldemort asked through gritted teeth. 

Little One froze in his lap and Voldemort frowned. It was a strange reaction, and one that didn’t make sense. Little One was completely tense in his hold and Voldemort had no idea why. Little One let out a strained breath of air before he shrugged and relaxed back into his hold. 

Voldemort put a pin in it for later, promising himself that he would go over what just happened when he had a moment. 

“Is that a yes, darling?” Voldemort asked. 

Little One shrugged once more before he shifted, burying his face in Voldemort’s chest, his hand coming up to clutch at Voldemort’s lapel. “‘M tired, Papa.” Little One said, not answering Voldemort’s previous question. 

Voldemort didn’t pay too much mind to it, though, as it wasn’t uncommon for Little One to forget to answer a question. Instead of bothering his precious on the issue, Voldemort chose to wrap the Inferius up in his arms and carry him inside. 

Voldemort laid the child in his bed but Little One whimpered and refused to let go of Voldemort’s robes. Voldemort sighed and picked him back up, walking through the portrait that connected their two rooms together. Voldemort gently set Little One down in his own bed, and this time, Little One cuddled deeper into the sheets. 

Voldemort smiled softly at his sleeping child and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. 

“Goodnight precious,” he whispered. “Sleep well.” 

Voldemort then closed the door to his bedroom and walked to his study. Little One showed no adverse reaction to Black and Lupin, so Voldemort would begrudgingly concede to their wish. Voldemort would allow them into his ranks, as well as the ability to see his child (it wouldn’t be a right, but a privilege. Something that could be taken away is necessary) in return for their spying against the Order. 

Voldemort leaned back against his chair. 

Yes, this might work nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, the drama pot is being stirred!!!! Watch out guys... (hehehehehe)
> 
>  **Fanfiction Rec:** Never Again written by Snapegirlkmf on Fanfiction.Net  
> This is another severitus fic where Severus adopts Harry as a child but is put in a coma and Harry is forced to live with Tobias Snape---Severus's abusive father! How will Snape react when he finds out where his son was forced to stay, and will Severus and Tobias finally mend their relationship? A super great read!!!!  
> \----------------  
> Voldemort: Mipsy! Fetch me Lucius  
> *House Elf pops in on Lucius preening his hair in the bathroom*  
> Mipsy: Master Lucius sir---  
> Lucius: *screaming like a banshee and dropping all of his hair products on the floor* HOLY MERLIN---


	24. 23: A Complication

**_-October 18 1991-_**  
Sirius shifts awkwardly in his place, and he starts when a hand comes to squeeze his own gently. With a strained smile, he turns to look at his lover who is equally anxious. Remus smiles at him and nods encouragingly. Sirius wishes that he could be as bold as Remus. 

It had been two days since the couple had confronted the Dark Lord, and during those two days, the pair had done nothing except worry and pace inside their home. Sirius was on edge, his fear of losing everything keeping him up all night. What if the Dark Lord rejected their offer? What if he told someone about what they’d done? They’d lose not only the chance to be with Harry, they’d also lose their friends' trust. 

(Not that they would have that for much longer, anyway.)

“Calm down, Padfoot,” Remus whispered, his comforting hold on his hand tightening as he pulled Sirius to the sofa. Sirius, broken out of his nervous pacing---well, almost pacing, as he didn’t really move from his frozen place by the fireplace---looked at Remus with a nervous grimace. “It’ll be okay.” 

“Why hasn’t he called for us yet?” Sirius asked, a hand coming up to drag through his black locks. 

“I don’t know,” Remus answered honestly. “But I’m sure he will. After all, you said it yourself, who doesn’t want more spies?”

“I bet he decided we’re too much of a threat,” Sirius said bitterly. “After all, he knows Harry likes us better.” 

Remus whacked him lightly on the arm and Sirius hissed. “That’s not funny,” he said with a glare. “If he does accept us, we have to be subservient. You know that! You can’t just say something like that!”

“We’re in the privacy of our own home!” Sirius cried, throwing his hands up in the air with exasperation. “Who cares what we say?!”

“He probably has, I don’t know, spies or something!” Remus responded with a heavy eye roll. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching us right now!”

“That’s just creepy.” Sirius pouted, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. “And if he were, I would appreciate it if he would give us a _bloody response already_!” he shouted. 

“Sirius!” Remus hissed. “Don’t do that! Are you trying to get us killed?”

“We’re already dying of anticipation,” Sirius deadpanned. Remus only glared harder. Sirius sighed and slumped into the sofa dramatically. “I can’t just keep waiting for a response! I’m going insane!” 

“You are not going insane,” Remus said with a fond smile. “You’re _already_ insane.” 

Sirius let out a mock gasp of offense. “Betrayed---”

The loud pop of a house elf entering their house startled them out of their childish bickering. The house elf squeaked at their startled faces and bowed deeply. “I be calling yous to see the Dark Lord.” the house elf chirped. “He’s be expecting yous.” 

It was silent in the house for a while as Sirius and Remus stared at the house elf. Remus suddenly moved and let out a weary sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “How do we get there?” 

The house elf toed the ground. “I be taking yous.” he said, holding out his hands. Sirius sent Remus another look to which Remus responded with another smile and stepped forward to take the house elf’s wrinkly hand. 

Sirius sighed and took the hand that was held out for him and blinked at the disorienting feeling of being transported via elf magic. Sirius felt his body being squeezed tightly before he popped into the meeting hall that they’d been in the last time they went to see the Dark Lord. 

Just as last time, the Dark Lord sits in his stone throne with poise, his crimson eyes appraising them with barely concealed disdain. Sirius bows low to the ground, gritting his teeth as his pride threatens to shine through. As much as it pains him to bow, if he wants the chance to be with his godson and do what James and Lily asked of him, he needs to do this. 

“I have considered your offer.” the Dark Lord says, breaking the tense silence. 

Sirius raises his head, his eyes coming up to meet the Dark Lord at the statement. The Dark Lord’s gaze darkens and his handsome face contorts into a snarl as he raises his wand. Sirius screams and thrashes on the floor as the _cruciatus_ washes over him. Sirius doesn’t know how long he lays there, twitching with agony, before the curse is lifted. Sirius pants as his muscles spasms from overexposure. 

“Do not presume to look me in the eye,” the Dark Lord hisses. “I am your Lord and you _will_ respect me.” 

Sirius struggles to fill his aching lungs, beside him, Remus is stiff in his bow. Remus was right, of course, Sirius was far too confrontational to be a good follower of the Dark Lord. Their personalities would crash quite often, and Sirius had a feeling that kneeling on the ground with agony would soon be the new normal. 

The Dark Lord was in a position of power over him, as he was the Dark Lord in charge of the entirety of Magical Britain. However, he was also the… father-figure in Harry’s life and therefore in control of who was permitted to see him. Being overly possessive of the child meant that anytime Sirius wanted to see the child, the Dark Lord would no doubt have a say in it. 

And judging from the harsh _cruciatus_ , the Dark Lord’s say didn’t exactly line up with Sirius’s. 

“Your offer to spy for me on the Order,” the Dark Lord spoke, and Sirius forced himself to regain control of his aching body and return to the bow he was in before. “Has been accepted. I will allow you to join my ranks.” 

The couple was silent, unsure if they could speak. This seemed to be the right choice as the Dark Lord chuckled. The sound grated on Sirius’s ears and he forced himself to remain indifferent lest he attack the man sitting before them. 

“You are learning quickly,” the Dark Lord mocked. “That’s good. I would hate to punish you more.” 

Sirius somehow doubted that _very much_. 

“This generous offer---” _Generous. Right_. Sirius bit back a scoff. “---comes with several stipulations, of course,” the Dark Lord continued. “Conditions that must be followed by the both of you lest you face my wrath.” 

Sirius’s gaze was frozen to the stone ground beneath him, but he heard the Dark Lord shuffling in front of him. Sirius started when a hand came forward to grip his jaw and force him to look up. Sirius met the Dark Lord’s crimson gaze and he could see the amusement and sadistic glee in the man’s eyes as he forced Sirius to look up at him. 

“You will remain at the lowest standing in my ranks,” the Dark Lord spoke, smirking dangerously at Sirius’s indifferent mask. “You will not be able to climb higher than a low tier Death Eater which makes you little better than a house elf.”

Sirius could tell that this amused the Dark Lord greatly, as if the man got some sort of pleasure watching powerful men be forced below their station. Sirius bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking. The Dark Lord raised a delicate eyebrow as though he could tell Sirius was holding himself back. 

“You will spend a year on probation with my other recruits before I induct you officially into my ranks,” the Dark Lord said. “During this time you will be watched by my Inner Circle at all times to ensure your loyalty. Perhaps Bellatrix…?” 

Sirius felt himself twitch at the mention of his psychotic cousin. Spending an entire year under Bellatrix’s thumb was worse than hell in Sirius’s opinion. The Dark Lord must have sensed Sirius’s falling mood as the grip on his jaw tightened. Sirius bit back a wince as the Dark Lord’s nails punctured his cheek and a small dribble of blood streaked down his cheek. 

“Any visits you have with my precious will be supervised,” the Dark Lord continued, his grip on Sirius’s jaw dropping as he stepped back from the kneeling couple. “Either myself of Nagini will watch you while you around Little One and any attempt to avoid our gaze will result in a punishment and the loss of visiting privileges indefinitely.” 

Sirius wanted to rage at this, but a single glare from the powerful man in front of him stopped him before he could open his mouth. Sirius wanted to get closer to his godson without the crazy, possessive, homicidal Dark Lord watching over his shoulder, but if this was the only way then Sirius really didn’t have a choice. He would have to grit his teeth and bear it if it meant seeing Harry. 

“Your arms.” the Dark Lord demanded, holding out his hand. Sirius clenched his fists, a brief lapse in his mask showing his fury. 

The Dark Lord was going to _mark_ them. 

A cruel smirk decorated the Dark Lord's face, as though he could see how much this was killing them on the inside. Sirius forced his arm to remain still as he lifted it to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord gripped his arm tightly, and with another gleeful smirk, he pressed his thumb deep into his forearm and hissed. 

The overwhelming flash of pain caused Sirius to stumble. The only thing that kept Sirius from falling to his knees was the painful grip the Dark Lord had on his arm. Sirius allowed himself a brief moment to grieve what he’d just done as the dark mark made its home on his arm. 

Sirius watched with a depressed gaze as his lover received the same treatment. The dark mark stood out harshly against their skin, and Sirius found that he loathed the very sight of it. He forcibly reminded himself of who it was for and only then did the self-loathing begin to dissipate. 

“Have you anything you wish to say to your new Lord?” the Dark Lord asked, not even bothering to hide his smug glee. 

Sirius wished for nothing more than to punch it off his face. 

“May we… May we see Har---Little One?” Sirius asked, forcing himself to look at the ground in a respectful manner as he asked. 

If he wanted to see Harry, he needed to swallow his pride and do what the Dark Lord asked. 

~~He only hoped it was worth it.~~

* * *

Voldemort could feel his glee drip away at the request. Voldemort had never felt more smug, watching the proud Black submit before him and allow himself to be marked by the very thing he loathed. It brought him great pleasure to see the pride shine through in his eyes as he bowed before him. 

Yet, when Black made his request, all the smug glee melted away and in its place was the usual possessiveness he felt whenever he thought of someone getting close to his precious. Voldemort would love nothing more than to deny them this, would love to send them on their way and force them to prove their worth before granting such a boon. 

But Voldemort knew that they needed an incentive to be of any use to him. Reluctant recruits such as these always needed proof of their rewards before they could truly become useful. 

“Very well,” Voldemort said through gritted teeth. He watched as relief coursed through the couple in front of him, and for a brief second, Voldemort entertained the thought of breaking them. It would be so easy to just curse them until they bled from their ears and nose. It would be so easy to tell them no and rip away their hope right from under their feet and watch them fall. 

But alas, Voldemort could not. 

So with heavy reluctance, Voldemort called for a house elf and demanded that Little One be brought to the meeting hall. He could see the excitement in their gazes as they looked at each other, could see the hope shining through their eyes at the thought of seeing _his_ child. 

(Because Little One was his and no one else’s. Voldemort raised him. Voldemort saved him. _Voldemort was his father_. ~~Not James bloody Potter~~.)

As the door opened to reveal his most cherished, Voldemort resigned himself to the happy smile that would grace Little One’s face as he caught sight of the two worms in front of him. Resigned himself to the silent giggles and flowers that _~~were reserved only for Voldemort~~_ Little One would give them. Resigned himself to gentle hugs and bashful body language as the attention was put onto him. Resigned himself to being overshadowed by a pair of worthless, plebeian, dead-beat men that dared call themselves _godfathers_ \---

Voldemort was brought out of his head by the sound of choked whimpers. He whipped his head around to see Little One clutching the door like a lifeline as tears streamed down his face. Voldemort shot up in his chair at the sight because they were not tears of joy. 

Voldemort walked briskly to where his precious stood, his chest tightening at the sight of sobs wracking his body hard enough to make Little One tremble. Voldemort frowns, unsure of what could cause such a reaction before he turned his head to the couple behind him. 

Black and Lupin stood back, indecision resting on their face as they fought with the idea of coming over to Little One. Black bit his lip before he took a step forward, his hand coming out to reach towards Little One’s sobbing figure. “Harry…?” Black spoke, his voice soft. 

Little One sobbed harder, and Voldemort could see him flinch away from the pain and scootch closer to Voldemort. Voldemort felt his rage wash over him as he lifted his child’s trembling body into his arms and spun around to face the pair. 

“Leave!” he hissed, his grip on Little One tightening. 

The couple flinched back at the rage-filled voice before the hastily shuffled out of the room. The second the door clicked shut, Voldemort was hugging Little One’s form tightly. “Calm yourself, dear heart,” he whispered softly, gently rocking Little One in his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong. What’s happened?” 

Little One choked on another whimper and Voldemort rubbed his hand down Little One’s back in a soothing manner. “Breathe, Little One, you must _breathe_.” 

Little One sucked in a shocked breath, and Voldemort winced when he heard it hitch in the back of Little One’s throat, only to be forced out in another harsh sob. If this continued, Little One would cry himself sick. 

“Stop,” Voldemort commanded, sitting down on his throne and maneuvering Little One so that he might sit in his lap comfortably. Little One whimpered silently and brought his hand up to grip the front of Voldemort’s robes tightly. “You need to calm down. Tell me what’s happened and I will fix it.” 

Little One began to cry harder at this and Voldemort was at a loss. He felt completely out of his depth, unsure of what could cause such a dramatic reaction from his usually docile child. Little One sucked in a harsh breath before he wailed in between gasps, “Papa… Papa send… me ‘way?” 

Voldemort felt his heart clench inside his chest and cursed himself. Of course! No wonder Little One was so upset! It all made sense now! Seeing Voldemort with the two men Little One correlated with his kidnapping must have made it look like Voldemort was giving Little One away. That’s why Little One was so clingy when Voldemort mentioned the pair. 

Voldemort tightened his grip on Little One and drew him in for a tight hug. Little One buried his face in Voldemort’s chest, and Voldemort paid no mind to the snot and tears that were currently staining his clothes. Voldemort pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Little One’s head before he began to card his fingers through Little One’s messy hair in a soothing motion. 

“Never, dearest, never,” Voldemort promised. “I will never send you away. I promised you, remember? Always going to be here forever. I promised you.” 

Voldemort didn’t know how long he sat on his throne, Little One in his arms. Slowly, Little One’s sobs turned to crying to gentle whimpers until it completely subsided. Voldemort sat there, enjoying the contact for as long as he dared before he scooped his son’s sleeping body into his arms. 

Even in sleep, Little One clutched at Voldemort like a lifeline, whimpering at every jostle that threatened to separate the pair. It took quite a bit of coaxing from Voldemort to get Little One to release his death-like grip on his robes and snuggle into Voldemort’s sheets. 

Voldemort stood back then, a fond smile resting on his face as he looked at his sleeping angel. Little One was tangled up in Voldemort’s bed, soft blankets wrapped around his body in a protective embrace. Voldemort gently thumbed the remaining tears off Little One’s face before he kissed his forehead. 

Voldemort then sent Nagini to sleep next to Little One, that way, should Little One wake up, he wouldn’t wake up alone. As he closed the door, he sent one last glance at his bed and smiled at the sight of Nagini coiling around the sleeping Inferius. 

Voldemort then sat down gracelessly on his chair and allowed himself to rest his head on his desk. 

What a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. No one saw that coming *sarcastic eye roll*
> 
> EVERYONE WHO HAS DISNEY+ GO WATCH HAMILTON!!!! 
> 
> (Seriously. Even if you don't like musicals or history. It will not disappoint.)
> 
>  **Fanfiction Rec:** The Darkness Within written by Kurinoone on Fanfiction.net  
> You guys, if you haven't read this you seriously need to, this is a classic! What if Pettigrew took Harry Potter to Voldemort? The world thinks Harry Potter is dead, and the Order have a mission to capture the Dark Lord's Heir, the Dark Prince But why does he seem so familiar? Really great read, I literally could not stop reading it!!! Go check it out!!  
> \--------------  
> Black: What do you think that was about  
> Lupin: I really don't know...


	25. 24: Her Dying Wish

**_-October 22 1991-_**  
It’s a grand room, full of beautiful decor and fancy furniture. It does a fantastic job of distracting it’s occupant from the fact that the beautiful room is actually a prison. The massive oak doors were covered in metal embellishments, but the handles were spelled shut, impossible to open from the inside. There were no windows in the room---suite, more like it. There were three rooms attached together, a living room, a kitchen and a master bedroom complete with a bath. 

It was a comfortable prison cell, Severus had to admit. 

It had been two weeks now, since Severus had confessed his traitorous actions to the Dark Lord, and was subsequently locked away. Severus had had plenty of time to think over his past two weeks of isolation (mainly because there was literally _nothing_ else to do.) and whenever the boredom threatened to take hold, his mind would wander. 

Severus knew that the Dark Lord had punished Pettigrew for attacking Little One---destroying, obliterating, _ripping from limb to limb_ was more in character for the Dark Lord, Severus thought with a shudder. Severus was waiting for his punishment, and Severus had to concede that forcing him into isolation for two weeks with nothing but his thoughts and the anticipation of what’s to come was a fantastic torture method. 

Severus stood from his position on the plush sofa and began to pace around the confines of the living room. Severus still had trouble believing that pathetic Peter Pettigrew was the one who attacked Little One. 

It was strange because, according to Dumbledore, Pettigrew became a spy to atone for his mistakes and attempt to ease his guilt at the passing of his friends. If that were the case, why would he attack Little One? The child of said friends? As much as Severus didn’t want to admit it, if you really looked, you could see the resemblance. 

No matter, though, as Pettigrew was probably six feet under by now. 

At least now, Little One would have some closure from the attack and feel safe. Seeing the usually happy and bubbly Inferius so drawn in and afraid had hurt Severus deeply. He could feel the pang in his chest every time he witnessed the child flinch away from someone that wasn’t the Dark Lord. 

Deep down, Severus wondered how different things would have been if he’d done what he’d been asked all those years ago. Would Little One’s fate have changed? 

If he’d listened to Lily…?

_-May 7 1980-_

_Severus shouldn’t be doing this, Severus_ knows _he shouldn’t be doing this---this could ruin everything he was working towards, could ruin_ him _, yet he couldn’t stay away. Severus wished that he had the strength, yet the second he saw the familiar handwriting on the parchment, Severus knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay away._

_Severus had sat in his kitchen until the sun went down, his gaze boring holes into the letter sitting by his hand as he debated with himself. As he searched for any ounce of willpower inside him that would keep him away._

_He found none._

_And now, as he walked the familiar brick path down Diagon, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His dark gaze lifted from the worn bricks to the old wooden sign hanging off the equally old building. This was his last chance to back out. He could just turn around and pretend this never happened. He would have no reason to be ashamed, as he never disobeyed the Dark Lord._

_Then he caught her gaze in the window._

_She looked, in a word, exhausted. Her usually fiery hair looked dull as it was pulled into a bun on her head, a few strands hanging limply down her face. Her face was rounder than when he’d last seen her, but the determined glint in her emerald eyes was just as bright as before, if not brighter. The heavy bags hanging underneath her eyes showcased just how tired she was, and her fingers played absentmindedly with the ring on her finger---the ring that seemed to mock him. Her posture was grim and hunched and for a second, Severus could have sworn he saw defeat flash in her eyes._

_But even then, she was beautiful._

_Severus sighed, cursing himself internally as he walked forward into the bar. The sounds of the Hogshead assaulted his ears instantly, and Severus resisted the urge to cover his ears against the loud talking, yelling, singing and laughing that accompanied the drunk customers. He chose to grit his teeth and walk briskly to the table where she sat._

_Despite himself, Severus found his face softening at the sight of her. Even with everything going on, Severus couldn’t lie and say he didn’t miss her. He always missed her. Had never stopped. (Something told him he’d never stop.)_

_She smiled at him and stood to greet him. Severus found himself pointedly looking away from her bulbous belly and chose instead, to accept her handshake. A small part of him winced at the formality between them._

_“Sev,” she said softly. His chest tightened at the familiar nickname and the fondness in the words. “I didn’t think you would show.”_

_“Neither did I.” Severus said gruffly, sitting down in the chair across from hers. She sat down slowly, and smiled at him warmly._

_“How have you been?” she asked him, her emerald eyes searching his. “Are you okay?”_

_Severus found himself wishing that he could let this continue. That he could just relax into the worn chair and allow her to worry about him like she did in Hogwarts. Wished that he could pretend, if only for a moment, that everything was as it used to be before the war tore them apart._

_And for a brief moment, he did. He indulged himself and closed his eyes, allowing himself to believe that they were back in Hogwarts, just sitting in the Hogshead, hiding from the teacher’s view as they talked about school and bullies and enjoying each other’s company._

_But then that brief moment was over, and Severus found reality crashing into him like a tidal wave. He sucked in a harsh breath and opened his eyes, allowing them to narrow dangerously at the woman he ~~loves~~ loved._

_“Why am I here, Lily?”_

_Lily sighed and nodded, a finger coming up to play with her hair nervously. “I needed to see you.” she answered. Severus’s face screwed up with disbelief._

_“Don’t lie to me,” he said harshly. “Does your_ husband _know you’re here?” It’s cruel and he knows it, but the alternative was to let Lily continue to claw at the remains of his heart, and that was something Severus just couldn’t allow._

_Lily’s face hardened. “I am my own woman, Severus.” she said. “James doesn’t need to know where I am every hour of the day.”_

_“So that’s a no, then,” Severus snarked. “Best run along before Potter and the gang march in to arrest the slimy Death Eater.”_

_“Damn it, Sev! Can’t you just ignore the war for_ ten bloody minutes _and listen to me?!” Lily cried, blowing a harsh breath of air out of her lungs in her frustration._

_Severus stared at her in surprise, his eyes widening ever so slightly. This was when Severus really looked at her. His earlier assumption of exhaustion seemed to be a bit of an understatement. Lily looked to be one foot away from running herself into the ground. Lily let out a weary sigh and all but slumped back into her chair._

_This position highlighted her swollen belly, and for a moment, Severus allowed himself to wonder how different things could have been had he not made that mistake in Hogwarts all those years ago. Would he have joined the Dark Lord’s ranks, still? Or would he have joined the light, married Lily as he wished. Would she then be swollen with his child, not Potter's?_

_Severus forcibly pulled himself out of the thought and twisted his head to stare out the window. “Why am I here, Lily?” Severus repeated, his wariness lacing his words._

_“I need your help.”_

_Severus turned back to face Lily, his slightly open mouth betraying his surprise at the words. Lily was holding her stomach protectively as she met Severus’s gaze. Her eyes shone with the same determination that Severus had always admired, and Severus found that he couldn’t look away._

_When it became clear that Severus wasn’t going to break the silence, Lily dragged a hand through her tied hair and sighed. “I need your help, Severus,” she repeated. “Please.”_

_“What… What could you possibly need my help for?” Severus demanded, looking at her with narrowed eyes._

_Lily looks down at the table, breaking their impromptu staring contest. Her free hand clenches around the air as her other rubs nervously at her belly. “Dumbledore called James and I in for a meeting last week,” she spoke softly. Severus stiffened at the mention of Dumbledore. Was… Was Lily giving away information? Why would she… “When we arrived, he told us that there was… a prophecy.”_

_Severus was blatantly gaping at Lily, now. He’d be disgusted at his lack of aloofness if he weren’t so surprised. He felt completely out of his depth as Lily continued to share trade secrets of the Light to a known Death Eater._

_“Severus… I’m scared,” Lily admitted, lifting her head and allowing her gaze to meet Severus’s. Severus flinched minutely at the sight of tears in her emerald orbs. Severus felt his chest tighten at the words, and a part of him longed to comfort her. Severus squashed that part deep down and continued to stare at Lily. “I fear that… I fear that the war is going to come to it’s turning point and… and I fear that my baby will be in the middle of it.”_

_“W-What are you talking about?” Severus asked, his gaze darting nervously around the Hogshead. Was this a trap? Did Lily call him here just so that she could arrest him? It was the only logical explanation. It made more sense than whatever was going on right now._

_Lily caught his nervous glances and smiled at him softly. “I put up a silencing spell,” she assured him. “There’s a Notice-Me-Not spell around the table, as well. No one knows we’re here. You're safe.”_

_“What are you telling me, Lily?” Severus asked in a low whisper. “Why would you call me here and talk about Dumbledore? What’s going on?”_

_“There is a prophecy,” Lily spoke, her green eyes moving to stare out the window absently. “It speaks of a power that can… vanquish the Dark Lord---” Severus’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, but Lily continued to speak. “---this supposed power is going to be born as the seventh month dies.”_

_At this, Lily turns to face him, a single tear sliding down her face. “Severus, my baby is due at the end of July.”_

_Severus can feel his body freeze, his eyes now impossibly wide. His mind was still floundering under the information that had been given to him. Everything that Lily told him was valuable information to the Dark Lord. Why would she tell him this? Didn’t she know that Severus was a Death Eater? What could she possibly gain by telling him this---_

_“Severus?” Lily’s voice brought him out of his mind, and Severus found himself staring at Lily with a dropped jaw._

_“Why would you tell me this?” Severus asked. “I… I’m a Death Eater, Lily, you know this… Why---”_

_“James and I are going into hiding this weekend,” Lily said, her hands moving to rest on the peak of her stomach, her fingers laced together. “We are going to be under the Fidelius for a very long time.”_

_Severus didn't want to acknowledge the pain he felt at her words. “You---”_

_“Dumbledore is confident that the prophecy is true,” she continued. “So he is placing everyone who is expecting in the month of July into hiding to protect them from the Dark Lord. But even still… even still… Even still, he believes my baby to be the one of the prophecy---”_

_Severus felt sick. “Stop.”_

_“---My baby hasn’t even been born yet, and he’s already a part of this cursed war. I wanted my child to grow up happy, surrounded by friends and family. Safe in a world where he can walk outside without fear of being attacked.” Lily continued, her face screwed up in grief. “Instead, he’s going to grow up in hiding. He’ll never be allowed to play outside. Never be allowed to make new friends. I don’t even know if my child will be able to go to Hogwarts---”_

_“Lily. Enough.”_

_“---I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant,” Lily said, a flash of joy replacing the horrid grief for one moment. “I thought the war would be over by the time he was born. I thought we would have won by now. I was supposed to have my baby shower in two weeks, and instead, none of my friends will know where I am---”_

_“That’s enough, Lily. Stop it.”_

_“---How am I supposed to protect my baby from a Dark Lord? How?” Lily’s voice broke. “I am just a muggleborn. I have no political power. I don’t have any standing in this world. Am I meant to rely on an old man to keep me and my family safe? What happens when he fails? What happens when the Dark Lord murders my husband and I? What happens when we’re dead and no one is left to save Harry---”_

_“JUST STOP IT!” Severus shouted, his fist slamming down on the table. Lily was startled into silence, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. The silencing spell was strong, and no one seemed to have heard Severus’s shout._

_Severus felt all of his fight bleed out of him at the sight of Lily’s tears. Her emerald eyes were swimming with salt water, and when they began to streak down her cheeks, Severus collapsed into his chair._

_“Just… stop it.” Severus repeated softly. He held his head in his hands. “Why are you doing this to me?”_

_It was silent at their table. Severus remained in his stiff position, and his hands cradled his face, hiding his weary expression. Lily said nothing, the only noise coming from her were soft sniffles as she attempted to reign in her crying._

_Finally she spoke._

_“I think I am going to be killed soon.” Severus whipped his head up at the statement, his wide eyes boring holes into Lily’s expressionless gaze. “James is hopeful but I… I have always been the realistic one.”_

_“Lily…” Severus whispered softly._

_She smiled at him, and it was so full of grief that Severus had to look away. “My child might be the downfall of the Dark Lord. If you were the Dark Lord… what would you do?”_

_Severus swallowed back bile. He knew exactly what the Dark Lord would do, and so did Lily. He sighed, a hand coming up to drag through his hair. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his eyes closing under the wave of helplessness he felt washing over him._

_“I’m here to ask you---no,_ beg _you---to promise me…” Severus started when he felt warm hands grip his cold ones. He opened his eyes to see Lily staring at him, determination glinting off of the tears in her emerald eyes. His mouth felt impossibly dry. “Sev, please... if you’ve_ ever _loved me I… I beg of you… save my son. If my husband and I are killed… please, Severus,_ save my son _.”_

_Severus stared at her, his mouth wide open at the words he just heard. Did she really just… Severus felt his gaze harden and he ripped his hand out of hers. He stood up quickly, ignoring the clatter his chair made as it hit the ground._

_“How dare you?!” he hissed, hating the flush that he knew to be staining his cheeks._

_“Sev---”_

_“How impossibly cruel you are,_ Mrs. Potter _,” he spat. “You bring me here after years of silence. You tell me things that My Lord would wish to know and use our relationship to ensure my silence. You speak of your impending doom and you_ dare _to use my… my affections for you against me! And for what? So that I’ll protect that… that Potter-Spawn?!”_

_Lily reached out for him, but Severus slapped the offending limb away from him. “Severus, please I---”_

_“Ask the mongrel you call ‘friend’,” Severus snapped. “I’m sure Potter would love it if Black took care of the thing.”_

_Lily’s hand flew down to her belly, and Severus couldn’t stand the sight. “My child is not a_ thing _,” she said firmly. “Please, I… I’m begging you---”_

_“No.” Severus said, his cold mask snapping into place. “I will not allow myself to be controlled by you. Not anymore.”_

_Severus turned and began to walk out of the bar. He could hear Lily scrambling to follow after him. Her light footfalls seemed to echo in Severus’s ears as he reached out to grab the door. He pulled it open and stepped out into the cool evening air._

_“Severus, please, no! Severus, wait!_ SEVERUS _!”_

_Severus didn’t turn back._

Severus blinked, and for a second, Severus had forgotten where he was. The sight of the extravagant furniture and decor brought him back to the present. Severus let out a heavy sigh, and dragged his hands through his black hair in a nervous gesture. 

The isolation wasn’t good for Severus’s mental state. Such was obvious by the way his mind wandered down dangerous territory. That night… On especially lonely nights, Severus would think about that night and the things he could’ve done differently. 

Perhaps things would have been different if he’d done as Lily asked. 

Lily and James Potter were killed a little over a year after that night, caught in the crossfires of a rebel attack. Severus didn’t know how Lily knew she would die, but her prediction came true nonetheless. 

When Severus heard the news, he shut down. Severus didn’t leave his house, and in his grief, made the worst mistake of his life. (Or the second worst mistake, the first being the incident in his Hogwarts years) After he joined the Order, a part of him was expecting to run into the child that Lily spoke of. 

He never did. 

He never sought the child out, either. 

But he never forgot about the baby boy that Lily loved with all her heart. 

When he found out that the very child Lily had begged him to protect was the Dark Lord’s Inferius, Severus felt his chest tighten like it’d been hit with a fatal blow. Now, Severus was forced to look at the child Lily had begged him to protect and remember his mistake in the most brutal way possible. 

He wished… He wished he could go back… What would Lily think if she saw them now? What would she think if she could see her baby boy, frozen forever as a child, a victim of abuse and murder? What would she think of Severus? What would she think if she saw how badly he’d failed her? 

Severus walked numbly to the bedroom and all but collapsed into the bed. He wanted Lily’s forgiveness like he wanted air. And as he lays down on the bed, his arms coming to rest behind his head, he looks up at the ceiling. 

“Lily,” he whispers softly. “I’m so sorry. I promise you, I will do what you asked of me. I swear to you, as your friend---” he choked up, and for the first time in many years, tears sprang into his eyes. “---as a man who _loved_ you, I swear… I _will_ protect your son.” 

And as Severus closed his eyes, a lone tear slipping down his cheek, Severus could swear he felt a warmth encompass him, and the familiar scent of parchment and roses, the distinct scent of Lily washed over him. And just for a second, only one small second, Severus could’ve sworn he heard Lily laugh. 

_What took you so long?_

Severus fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This ended up being way sadder than I meant it to be. Whoops. I'd say it's going to get better but... that would be a lie.
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** burn, baby burn written by e1ana  
> This is a MyHeroAcadamia fic where Izuku is adopted by Dabi. Honestly, I just thought this was the cutest thing ever. (If you haven't noticed, I have an addiction to soft paternal villain fanfictions.) This is really cute! Go check it out!
> 
> Also, if you haven't already, go read 'The Garden and It's Boy' written by Kurofu! This book is so good and it deserves so much more attention and love! This book is what inspired me to write this series, so go check it out and show it some love! A link to the story is in my inspired work section, Go read it!  
> \---------------  
> Author: What's this...?  
> Author: Am I... Am I...  
> Author: Am I doing a _foreshadowing_?!  
> Author: ...  
> Author: I am!
> 
> Fate: It seems you've lost...  
> Fate: Shall we play another game, Dear Brother?


	26. 25: Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: Mentions of past child abuse_

**_-October 31 1991-_**  
Little One notices things. He knows that all of Papa’s friends assume he’s stupid, just like Cousin Dudley and his gang, but Little One can’t be stupid. He wouldn’t notice things if he were stupid, would he? And Little One notices a lot of things.

He noticed that Mr. Snape---he likes lilies---lied to him when he said he was taking him to Papa. He didn’t notice it at first, he was distracted by seeing his Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony from the strange dreams. It wasn’t until Little One heard his Papa’s name come out of the strange bearded man’s mouth, that he noticed something was wrong. (And it was wrong, very very wrong) He hadn’t seen Papa in several days and he missed him. He wanted to see his Papa but the strange people he was staying with wouldn’t let him. It made him sad and scared. He noticed how upset Uncle Padfoot was whenever Little One wasn’t there, and it made him feel strange. He felt sad because Uncle Padfoot was upset, but guilty because Little One didn’t want to be there anymore. He wanted to go home to his Papa and his Auntie Cissy and his snake-momma. 

He noticed the strange bearded man said something that made Uncle Padfoot upset and then suddenly Little One got to see Papa. Little One could see how angry Papa was, but the second they met eyes, Papa looked so worried that Little One squirmed in the strange bearded man’s hold, wanting to run over to Papa and give him a hug and tell him that everything was okay. 

The strange bearded man said something that made Papa angry, but Little One wasn’t listening. He was listening to his Papa, who had suddenly addressed him. “ _Are you harmed, dear one?_ ” he asked. 

“ _‘M oh’kay_ ,” Little One had answered, smiling at his Papa. “ _Missed you, Papa_.” Little One watched as his Papa looked back at the strange bearded man and they talked for a while until Little One was set on the ground. 

Little One let out a silent giggle and ran over to his Papa, his arms outstretched towards him. Papa lifted him up into his arms and hugged him tightly, and for the first time in days, Little One felt safe. “ _There, there, precious. I’m here now._ ” he said and kissed his temple. 

And as the feeling of safety and security washed over him, Little One allowed himself to snuggle closer to his Papa’s comforting weight and fell asleep. 

When Little One woke up, he didn’t want to leave his Papa ever again. He was so afraid while he was gone, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Little One noticed that Auntie Cissy watched him nervously a lot now, but whenever she tried to get close to him, he would just snuggle closer to his Papa. 

He liked Auntie Cissy, but he wanted to be with Papa. 

He tried not to, but Little One couldn’t help but worry about Mr. Snape. He said that it was a secret, that Little One couldn’t tell Papa that Mr. Snape was the one who took him, but Mr. Snape said that _Papa_ was the one who told _him_ to watch Little One, so didn’t Papa already know? But then, Mr. Snape had lied to him before. 

Nevertheless, Little One didn’t like Mr. Snape anymore. Whenever he saw the man, Little One would get as close to Papa as he could, his fingers grabbing at the long robes tightly. Mr. Snape had taken Little One from Papa before, so who’s to say he won’t do it again?

Little One noticed how everyone looked at him with weariness. They eyed him as he curled up in Papa’s arms. They whispered to each other whenever Little One feigned sleep in his Papa’s lap. (Little One was very good at pretending to sleep) Little One didn’t know why they looked at him with such concerned eyes, or why they got sad whenever he passed by. He wanted to give them flowers to make them feel better, but that would mean getting out of Papa’s arms and getting close to them. And Little One couldn’t do that. What if he got too close, and Mr. Snape came and took him away again? No, it wasn’t safe. He hoped that they didn’t mind not getting flowers for a little while. 

Little One noticed Papa’s worried gaze, too. Papa was always looking at Little One now, and Little One didn’t mind because that meant Papa could protect him. Papa always protected him, no matter what. That’s why, when the new nightmares of Mr. Snape coming and taking him away forever and ever started to wake him in the night, Little One would crawl into Papa’s bed and sleep next to him. Papa could keep Little One safe. Forever and always. 

Little One was starting to get better, and Papa knew that too, and that's why Little One didn’t kick up a fuss when Papa had to go away for a meeting. Snake-momma was getting food but she promised she’d be back in a few minutes, so Little One didn’t mind waiting. But he was bored in his room, and he wanted to see how the flowers in the garden outside were growing. 

That’s when the bad man came. 

Little One’s hand absently brushed against the new stitches in his neck. His fingers trailed over the harsh thread, counting. There were four new stitches. Unbidden, an image of the badman looming over him flashed in his mind, and Little One choked on a gasp. He was a very bad man, that’s what snake-mama told him, and he was very scary. 

Little One could remember how scared he was as the bad man hurt him. Little One felt the phantom pains as the bad man’s fingers held him down and tore apart his neck bit by bit. It felt like he was dying all over again and Little One wanted to scream but he couldn’t find his voice. The bad man was wearing a mask, but he looked just like Uncle Vernon and suddenly, the bad man became Uncle Vernon. 

_“You useless freak! Can’t you do anything right! I’ll teach you how to behave!”_ and as Uncle Vernon ripped out the stitches holding him together, all Little One could do was beg. 

_“No Uncle Vernon! Please, Uncle Vernon! I’ll be better, Uncle Vernon!”_ but Uncle Vernon didn’t hear Little One’s pleas, and suddenly his word was tilting. He couldn’t feel his body and he was assaulted by the overwhelming feeling of wrongness---it was wrong, wrong wrong---and Little One opened his mouth and screamed. 

He screamed and screamed until the blood pooled in his mouth and he couldn’t scream any more. And then he just whimpered, the blood pouring down the back of his throat and choking him, his neck split open and his head lying uselessly on the floor, his vision going in and out. One minute Little One was whimpering and choking and the next Draco was standing over him calling someone and Little One whimpered louder. He wanted the wrongness to stop and he wanted the blood to go away and the pain to stop and, and--- 

Little One wanted his Papa to come and make everything better because that’s what Papa always did. 

And there he was, holding him and brushing his hair out of the way. Little One looked up at his Papa, straining to see him through his blurry vision. The world was spinning on a tilted axis, but Little One didn’t know how to tell Papa that. Then Papa kissed him and told him everything was going to be okay. Little One believed him and he sunk into the blissful darkness with no complaints. 

And when Little One woke, Papa had fixed him. The wrongness was gone, and in its place, a sheer numbness that spread through his limbs like the blood that painted the walls. Papa was worried, and Little One noticed it right away, and Little One didn’t want to make his Papa worried, so he did his best to act normal. Little One was good at pretending nothing was wrong, the Dursleys taught him how. But even still, Little One never let go of Papa and he never gave flowers. The desire to hand them out had died with him. 

The nightmares of Mr. Snape disappeared, changing into something far more terrifying. Uncle Vernon and the masked bad man would hold him down and tear him apart, only to put him back together to do it all over again. Little One slept with Papa now, but even he wasn’t enough to keep the scary dreams at bay. 

Everything was wrong and numb and Little One didn’t like it, but he didn’t know how to fix it either. 

And now, as he sat outside in the very gardens he wished to see earlier, Little One felt nothing. He was sitting on the grass, the warmth of the sun feeling mildly pleasant against his bare arms, but his eyes were blank as they stared at the mix of lush flowers before him. 

To his left, snake-momma slithered around the flower bed, searching for mice. He hugged his legs close to his chest and rested his face against his knees. He didn’t understand what he did to deserve his punishment, and it was what kept him on the defensive, always holding his Papa. Papa had never punished him before, but the bad man did, and Little One didn’t know what he did. 

Was Little One a bad boy? Only bad boys got punished, and the bad man punished him really hard, so that meant Little One was a bad boy, right? 

Papa had said to stay in his room, but Little One really wanted to see the garden. Maybe that's why he got punished. For disobeying Papa. But.. But… But Papa had promised that Little One would never be punished like Uncle Vernon punished ever again. Did Papa lie? 

“ _Little One? You smell sad_.” Snake-momma hissed, moving away from the flowers. 

“ _Was I a bad boy?_ ” Little One asked, his gaze staying firmly planted on the grass. In his peripheral, Little One saw snake-momma rear back in surprise. 

“ _What? Little One is the best boy, never bad, always._ ” she said firmly. “ _Why do you say such things?_ ” 

“ _Bad boys get punished._ ” Little One said softly, his fingers resting on the ground, absently playing with a blade of grass. 

Snake-momma hissed. “ _No! Little One is good boy. That man was bad man! Bad man gets punished for hurting you!_ ” 

Little One looks up from the ground to see snake-momma hissing indignantly by the flowers. Her green scales shine and glitter under the sunlight, and Little One can’t help but stare at the snake. “ _Bad man… punished?_ ” he asks. 

“ _Punished very bad. Bad man never hurts Little One ever again._ ” snake-momma insisted, and a self-satisfied smirk curled on her face. 

The feeling of numbness, the confusion and hurt at being punished for something he didn’t understand, the fear of losing Papa again and the loneliness he felt when he was away from Papa all rose up in his chest at once. The confusing and overwhelming emotions choked him with their intensity and Little One felt tears well up in his eyes. 

All the emotions that Little One pushed away with the desire to be normal for Papa welled up inside him and pushed over the edge, forcing a harsh and silent sob out of Little One’s lips. Snake-momma whipped her head around to watch as Little One cried. 

“ _Let it all out, Little One_ ,” she hissed, slithering closer to him. “ _You’ve been hiding for too long. Let it out._ ”

Little One let out a silent wail and his body trembled under the immense pressure. Little One always hid his sadness and pain because that’s what was expected of him. Little One always had to, and even when his Papa saved him, Little One was always happy because he knew that Papa worried. 

~~Little One didn’t want to hide his sadness anymore.~~

Little One sobs as the pain washes over him. Little One feels like he’s being buried. “I was good…” he whispered over and over again, too exhausted to hiss at snake-momma. He let the familiar language leave his tongue as he sobbed, tears pouring down his face like a flood. The bright colors of the flowers and peacefulness around him clashed horribly with his pain and the drastic contrast overwhelmed him and he buried his face in his Snake-momma’s coils. “I was good…” 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, face hidden in the coils of his protective snake-momma, a light breeze ruffling his hair as the flowers rustled. He allowed himself to cry, the tears slicking snake-momma’s scales and making his face slip every few minutes. His body trembled and jerked under the force of his cries, but he didn’t make a sound. Little One grieved silently, doing what he did best, and suffered in silence. 

When he finally stops, no more tears left to give, he lifts his head. His face feels itchy and blotchy and Little One quickly wipes his face. While he had been crying, snake-mama coiled tightly around him in a comforting hold. He leans back against his snake-momma and lets his gaze drift over the flowers. 

They’re really pretty, thousands of daisies, peonies, roses, sunflowers, lilies, cone flowers, and countless other wildflowers danced in the light breeze. Little One forgot how much he missed flowers. Little One always felt safe in nature. When he lived with the Dursleys, Aunt Petunia always made Little One take care of the garden and that was the only thing he actually enjoyed. He nurtured the flowers from seed to bloom, keeping them safe from the harsh realities of life and the cruelty of his family. Uncle Vernon never dared to punish him outside, not with it being so open to the neighbors, so Little One stayed outside for as long as he dared.

Little One smiles, tilting his face up with closed eyes as the gentle warmth from the sun brushed over his face. Little One felt peace wash over him as he opened his eyes to stare at the tranquil scene. He lets out a contented sigh, and looks up at the puffy white clouds. 

“I was good.” he said, slightly louder than before. Beside him, Snake-momma flicks her tongue, and it tickles the bare skin of his wrist. 

“ _Yess, always good, hatchling._ ” she said. “ _Not your fault._ ” 

Little One looked at her for a second. “Not my fault?” he asked. The idea seemed foreign to him. Whenever he was punished, it was always his fault. Uncle Vernon taught him that he deserved all of his punishments. She shook her head before letting it rest on his thigh. Little One slowly ran his fingers down her scales, the familiar motion soothing him. “Not my fault.” he repeated, tasting the idea on his tongue. 

As Little One pet his snake-momma, the light autumn breeze rushed past him, drying the tear tracks on his face and calming him down. Little One felt the yucky emotions absence from his chest, and its place was peace and acceptance. Little One didn’t deserve the bad man’s punishment. Little One was a good boy. It wasn’t Little One’s fault.

For the first time in weeks, Little One smiled a true smile.

* * *

She watched from above as Her chosen relaxed against the Maledictus. Finally, things were starting to connect as it was meant to. It was about time. She was only slightly bitter when the Immortal Lord strayed from Her path, changing everything that was meant to be and forcing Her to change the game. And yet, She thought with a victorious smirk, She found a way. 

It was only a matter of time before things fell into place.

A dark chuckle brought Her out of Her thoughts. “ **Your move**.” He said, His voice dark and raspy.

She looked down, a smile gracing Her ethereal features. “ **You should know better than to play chess with _me_ , Dear Brother.**” 

Her knight conquered the king and Her Dear Brother dissolved into fits of mad laughter. 

“ **I can never beat you, Dear Sister.** ” 

She set up another game as His mad chuckles filled the silent, endless room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. 
> 
> ~~(WoW iT oNly ToOk 25 cHaPtErS tO gEt To ThE pLoT LoL)~~
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** To Have a Father written by Crystal Cove on Fanfiction. net  
> So this is a severitus fic where Harry wakes up in a different dimension where Snape is his father! In this dimension, Harry Snape was killed in 1st year, and a grieving Severus refuses to help Harry go back to his own dimension and instead tries to convince Harry to stay with him. Fantastic read, go check it out!  
> \------------------  
> Voldemort: Why did I just get a shiver down my spine?  
> Voldemort: I feel as though something incredibly drastic and damaging to my mental health is about to happen


	27. 26: Healing and all it entails

_**-October 31 1991-**_  
“Your report on the New Ministry, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, leaning back in his armchair. The heat from the fire beside him warmed the right side of his body as Voldemort allowed his crimson eyes to flit over the people in the drawing room. His Inner Circle (minus one Severus Snape who was still in isolation) sat in chairs around the room, each member facing him. 

Lucius shifted in his chair, holding his head high as he looked at Voldemort. “Minister Fudge’s term is ending in a few weeks,” he said. “The elections for the new term takes place next month.”

Voldemort nodded absently. When Voldemort founded the New Ministry, he left Cornelius Fudge as the Minister---as much as he despised the man and the lack of backbone, the public had voted for him, and the last thing Voldemort wanted was to make matters worse by evicting the only democratically elected official. 

(It wasn’t that hard to get Fudge on his side, anyway.)

“And the runner ups?” Voldemort asked, a delicate eyebrow raising. 

“So far, no one has stepped forward, but I believe that will change very soon.” Lucius said. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, silently urging the man to continue. “This is the first election since you took over, My Lord, I am certain that many people will be vying for a position of power.”

“I want a Minister that I can trust,” Voldemort mused. “Someone that can do the job efficiently. I don’t want to babysit.” 

“Is there someone you have in mind, My Lord?” Lucius asked. Voldemort hummed in thought. 

“Perhaps you, Lucius, could run for Minister?” Voldemort suggested. There was a momentary lapse in the Malfoy Patriarch’s mask, clearly showing his surprise at Voldemort’s words before he regained control of his emotions. 

“I would be honored, My Lord---”

Before Voldemort could respond, however, the door to the drawing room was pushed open to reveal Little One, a content Nagini slithering in behind him. Voldemort stops short at the sight of his child walking happily into the room, an air of ease and happiness surrounding him. It had been a long while since Voldemort had seen Little One so content.

But the surprises didn’t stop there. 

Little One, instead of walking immediately to where Voldemort sat, turned towards the nearest Inner Circle member, Lucius, dug his hand into his side bag and pulled out a handful of Tulips. Voldemort’s eyes widened at the sight of his precious handing out flowers once again. 

Seeing Little One close up and draw into himself after he was taken was one of the hardest things Voldemort had to witness, and Voldemort could not count the number of times that he wished Little One would go back to normal. 

It reminded him of the struggles he faced the very first year Voldemort brought Little One home. Back while he was adjusting to being an Inferius, as well as the transition from abusive family to loving father, Little One would go through the good and the bad days. 

It was hard. Very hard. Getting Little One to trust him and confide in him was one of the most difficult things he had to do. Some days, when Voldemort was in a horrible mood, Little One would relapse and go back to flinching away from him and hiding from his sight---Voldemort figured that Little One learned how to gauge the moods around him as a survival technique, thanks to his muggle relatives.

Whenever Little One would relapse back into his old habits, it would takes weeks of convincing and coaxing from Voldemort to get him back to the level of comfort that he’d previously displayed. 

Voldemort was proud when, after a year and a half, Little One stopped relapsing entirely. He still had bad days every now and then, such was the way healing worked, but they were nowhere near as regular as they used to be. The feeling of joy Voldemort felt whenever he hugged Little One without relieving a flinch was incredible, and it filled Voldemort with such glee. 

So seeing Little One revert back to the scared and emotionless child he used to be was hard to watch. 

And yet… 

Here his child was, acting just as he used to before, handing out handfuls of flowers to each of his followers. There were more flowers than he usually gave, almost as if he were apologizing for not handing them out sooner. Each of his Inner Circle members took the flowers as though they were a priceless gift, holding it tight to their chest and looking at Little One with joy. 

Finally, after he hands the last handful of flowers to Bellatrix, Little One turns around and walks towards Voldemort. Voldemort helps Little One up as he crawls into his lap. Voldemort smiles as his child presses a red Spider Lily behind his ear before he turns around and snuggles close to his chest. 

Voldemort wraps his arms around Little One in a protective hold, and Voldemort turns back to look at Lucius. The man is staring at Little One with visible surprise, his hands clutching the bouquet of Tulips so tight, that his knuckles have turned white. 

Voldemort smiles with light amusement. As much as he claims otherwise, Lucius truly does care about Little One. Voldemort could see how frustrated the man was whenever he saw Little One flinch away from the Inner Circle, and it was obvious that the man was relieved to see Little One acting like his usual self. 

It made him wonder what happened to help Little One heal so drastically. 

Voldemort lifted a hand to card through Little One’s hair as he spoke. “As I was saying,” he said, reclaiming the attention of his followers. “Lucius, you should run for Minister.” 

Lucius shook himself from his stupor and nodded his head. “It would be my honor to serve you, My Lord.”

* * *

Voldemort sighed wearily as he walked into his son’s room. The sudden assault of bright colors and pollen made Voldemort rear his head back in shock. Little One’s garden had begun to look… wilted, almost, ever since Little One was first kidnapped. But now that Little One seemed to be acting like usual, his garden was back to it’s bright and beautiful self. Voldemort wanted to know what had happened to Little One that made him cope with everything that happened, but he dared not ask. Not yet. He didn’t want to risk hurting Little One by bringing it up and sending him back to his forlorn state. 

However, what he was about to do might just send him back regardless. 

As loathe as Voldemort was to admit it, having those two extra spies in the Order would be incredibly helpful. Not just in taking down the irritating organization, mind you, but also in finally taking down Albus Dumbledore. But in order to do that, he needed to figure out if his precious was open to meeting with the two demanding idiots in charge of spying. 

Voldemort walked over to the swing bed where his precious was sitting cuddled up in a massive blanket burrito. It was one of the most adorable sights Voldemort had ever seen, and he internally cooed at his most cherished child swathed in hoards upon hoards of quilts. He was nothing but a blurb of fabrics and a face poking out. 

When Little One caught sight of him, his face lit up in the most radiant smile. The very sight of it filled him with joy and made his stomach feel warm. Voldemort smiled back at him and sat down on the bed swing, opening his arms to allow Little One to snuggle up close to him. Voldemort pressed his face into his son’s curls and breathed in deeply, his eyes fluttering shut with contentment. 

“Hello precious,” he whispers, pulling back so that he could see his child’s face. Little One grinned at him and Voldemort cupped his face and bumped their noses together. “You seem quite happy today. Did something happen.” 

Little One tangled their hands together. “Not my fault, Papa.” he whispered, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper. 

It took Voldemort a few seconds to understand what he was saying. When he did, however, Voldemort wished that he had tortured Pettigrew longer. He pulled Little One into his lap and began to rub his back comfortingly. “Never, baby,” he said gently. “Was never your fault.” 

Little One hummed softly and idly began playing with Voldemort’s fingers. Voldemort wished he could sit here forever, just him and his son, safe from the drama and the trauma. But alas, Voldemort could not. 

Voldemort sighed and shifted Little One so that his back was resting against his chest and conjured both a muggle coloring book and crayons. (Voldemort despised all things muggle, yet his precious loved to color with these blasted things, and since Voldemort may or may not upset his child with the conversation that was about to follow, Voldemort wanted to keep him as happy as possible.)

Little One had let out a silent giggle at the sight of the coloring book and squirmed in Voldemort’s lap until he was handed one. As Little One set off filling in the pages with color, Voldemort pondered the best way to bring it up. 

When Little One had finished the first drawing and was halfway through the second one, Voldemort finally spoke up. 

“Little One, my precious,” Voldemort spoke softly, smiling gently when his child tilted his head backwards to look at him. “You know that I love you very much, right? You know that I would never let anyone take you away from me. Never ever. You know that, right?” 

Little One’s face scrunched in obvious confusion. “Papa?” 

“Little One… Do you remember those two men from before?” Voldemort asked softly. “Moony and Padfoot?” Little One’s eyes widened with recognition and Voldemort winced when he saw Little One draw closer to himself. “Precious listen to me, I’m not sending you away. I will _never_ send you away. Not ever.” 

Little One nodded slowly. Voldemort sighed and brought his hand up to cup Little One’s chin. “They want to see you. They miss you. Would… would you be okay with that, dearest?” 

Little One was silent for a long time and Voldemort was nervous that Little One would say no. He was also hoping he would. Finally, however, Little One spoke. 

“S’okay, Papa,” Little One says, his voice as soft as usual, yet somehow, the voice carried throughout the entire room. “You keep me safe. We see them together.” 

Voldemort is silent for a very long time, long enough for Little One to turn back around and flip over a coloring page and begin drawing on the blank side. Voldemort only acknowledges the weird feeling he feels when Little One turns back around to hand him a drawing. Voldemort stands in a garden of colored blobs that Voldemort knows are meant to be flowers. Beside him, Little One stands with a broad smile on his face, and Nagini is drawn hanging off his shoulders. A bright red heart is drawn above their heads and the wobbly script reads, My family. Voldemort sets the paper down and draws Little One into a tight hug. 

“I love you, Little One.” he whispers, burying his face in his son’s curls. 

Voldemort thinks that might be his new favorite drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry about the short chapter, this was mostly just a filler before all the major plot chapters hit you. 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark... Not Recommended written by lilsmartass  
> This is a super good and angsty Tony Stark fanfiction that really addresses the team and their perception of Tony Stark. (It's got the good angst) Go check it out!!!  
> \-------------  
> Lucius: *Looking into the bathroom mirror*  
> Lucius: Lucius Malfoy... Minister of Magic  
> Lucius: *squeals like a little girl*


	28. 27: The Guardian

_**-November 1 1991-**_  
Voldemort, for what feels like the first time in forever, wakes without the underlying anxiety of worrying about his precious. Something happened yesterday that healed his son---and Voldemort was definitely going to find out what that was. He smiled as the rays of the sun warmed his bare face and turned his head to see said Inferius swathed in his bed sheets. Voldemort grinned fondly at the sight of his son in what _had_ to be the most uncomfortable sleep position. 

Little One slept peacefully on his stomach, his bottom up in the air while his weight rested on his knees. His face was smashed up against the pillow, drool soaking the pillow case, and soft snores erupting out of his mouth. One arm lay on the pillow, outstretched as if to touch the wall, while the other was curled up near his face, a damp thumb poking out of his fist. 

In short, Little One was adorable, and Voldemort wished he could take a picture. 

Voldemort, as gently as possible, left the bed, taking care not to rouse his sleeping toddler. Voldemort knew that Little One had been having trouble sleeping lately, and Voldemort wanted to leave him to get as much sleep as he could to make up for lost time. He stretched after he was safely out of the bed, allowing his back to pop. He then walked over to the side where his son slept and gently maneuvered into a more comfortable sleeping position and pressed a kiss to his temple before he walked out of the room and into his study. 

Voldemort had much to do today---so much that Voldemort pondered the idea of simply handing it off to Lucius and spending the day with his son in the garden instead---but ultimately, Voldemort knew that he could not continue to hand off his duties to his right hand, especially because he was running for Minister. 

Voldemort had too much dignity to groan, but as he sat down in his chair in his personal office, he really considered it. With everything that had happened with Little One being kidnapped and attacked, he’d completely forgotten about the Minister elections coming up. When Lucius mentioned it in the meeting yesterday, he had a brief moment of surprise before he responded. 

While Lucius would make a great Minister, it would leave Voldemort lacking in trustworthy, sane followers that he could fall back on in times of need. And yet, Voldemort would reluctantly concede that having Lucius in office would also be incredibly helpful as well. Especially when it comes to passing laws needed to get back at Dumbledore…

Speaking of manipulative old goats, Voldemort was in the process of coming up with a fantastic plan to get back at the man, but in order to get the most out of his revenge, as well as nip a few other problems in the bud, it would require some help on the inside. 

Which meant it was time to deal with the other traitor in his midst. 

Heaving out a tired sigh, Voldemort stood, his movement causing the papers on his desk to shift, and walked out of his study swiftly, the door clicking shut behind him. His footsteps echoed against the stone walls as he walked, and Voldemort paid no heed to the bows his followers gave as he passed by them. 

It took him only a few minutes to walk from his personal study to the other side of the castle where his… _guests_ were kept. He opened the door with his magical signature and stepped inside one the nicer, lusher prison cells. This cell was better described as a guest suite, and Voldemort looked at the bland walls and stuffy, basic artwork with distaste. 

It has been nearly three weeks since the prisoner was sentenced here, sufficient time to scare a man (or isolate) into submission. Speaking of, Severus Snape walked through the door that led to the bedroom and bowed before him.

“My Lord.” he spoke softly, his gaze not leaving the ground. 

Voldemort nodded, refusing to show how miffed he was about being here. If it didn’t prove counterproductive to his plans, Voldemort would leave Snape here in this room for the rest of his traitorous life---perhaps the isolation would drive him insane. But no, Voldemort needed him for now. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make his life as difficult as possible. 

“It is time for your punishment, Snape,” Voldemort says evenly. If Snape is surprised that he is to face another punishment, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he merely holds his bow in a show of respect. Pity. “I am demoting you from my Inner Circle. You will still be a high tier follower, as I have need for you still, but keep in mind, your life, while useful, is not necessary.” 

“I will endeavor not to fail you, My Lord.” Snape said. 

“Indeed.” Voldemort drawled, and with a dignified huff, Voldemort sat down in one of the armchairs. The movement prompted Snape to raise his head, and Voldemort used the opportunity to gesture towards one of the other chairs. “Sit, Snape. We have much to talk about.” 

“Yes, My Lord.” Snape said, and with one more respectful nod, he sunk into the other chair opposite to Voldemort and sat as straight as a board. 

“I am putting you in charge of training some new recruits,” Voldemort said, and took pleasure in seeing the dour man struggle to remain indifferent. Voldemort knew how much Snape despised socializing, and he especially hated training people. This would prove very entertaining. “While you train them, I will research ways to get you out of your oath.” 

Snape started at this. “My oath…?” 

“Yes, Snape, your oath,” Voldemort sneered. “Having a loyalty oath to Albus Dumbledore is counterproductive to my goals, and in order to be useful, you must get out of the oath without the old man’s knowledge.” 

“But… It was an unbreakable vow… My Lord.” Snape says, his mask lapsing momentarily to betray his surprise and confusion. 

“Yes, but there are ways around even those.” Voldemort said. “I will need to know the exact wording of your vow to the old man, as well as the conditions that were provided.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Snape said. “Shall I provide the memory?” 

“I will send you the necessary materials for this later,” Voldemort said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We have other matters to discuss.” 

“Of course, My Lord.” Snape said. 

“After I leave, you will be free to leave this castle and return to your home,” Voldemort says. “Though, you will be on probation for the next few years, so I wouldn’t get too excited. You have been missing for nearly three weeks, and Dumbledore will no doubt call you to his side to ask about your whereabouts.” 

“What should I tell him, My Lord?” Snape asked. 

“Tell him I sent you on a mission undercover, make up something about rebels in France. A false lead.” Voldemort said. “It is imperative that you regain any lost trust. Make yourself as trustworthy as possible. You need to get closer to the private information.” 

Voldemort stood then, and Snape took it as the end of the conversation. He stood as well, bowing his head to the floor as Voldemort walked past him. As Voldemort stood in front of the door he paused, his hands just barely grazing the door. 

He sends one last look at the man who used to be one of his most trusted. “Oh, and Severus?” Voldemort called.

Severus looks up from his now, the use of his first name clearly startling him. “My Lord?”

“The two new recruits you are in charge of?” he says with a sadistic smirk. “Their names are Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.” and with that, Voldemort sweeps out of the room.

* * *

Draco sat back comfortably against his bed, the familiar shades of green filling his peripheral. It was November first, and something… something _weird_ happened last night. As per the Malfoy tradition, as well as several other Pure-Blood families, Draco performed the Sahamian ritual with his friends. 

Because the Dark Lord took over before Draco was born, he didn’t have to hide the fact that he was doing the sacred ritual. Mother often told stories of how, whilst she was in Hogwarts, she and anyone else who wished to participate had to hide while they did it, as the old Ministry had all Olde Family Rituals banned. 

But because the New Ministry had declared such practices perfectly legal, Draco and anyone else who wished to participate in the ritual (read: all of the Slytherins, about half of Ravenclaw, a bit of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor respectively.) all gathered in the Great Hall after the feast.

Dumbledore did not hide his displeasure, and Draco knew that he’d been one of the members of the Wizengamot who had voted against the legalization of the Olde Ways. But because it was legal, Dumbledore could not tell the students not to do it, nor could he discourage the behavior. 

But he never attended the ritual, either. 

The Sahamian Ritual, when done correctly, was a way to reconnect with the dead---people you’ve loved and lost and wished to remember and cherish. It was also about honoring the dead and the patron of Death. To show respect towards Death was the ultimate way to live your life. 

When Draco attended the ritual, he’d intended to see his Grandfather, just as he’d done every Sahamian. But something strange had happened instead. 

As Draco closed his eyes and recited the chant, rather than waking in the study that his Grandfather used when he was alive, he opened his eyes to see a great nothingness. Draco could feel the power that the ritual created---far stronger than it had ever felt before. It felt as though the air was charged with magic. 

When he opened his eyes to find nothing, he panicked. He was standing in a void, pure empty space and darkness. He spun around, desperate to find light, but only served to dizzy himself. He was disoriented, because everywhere he looked, it appeared as though he hadn’t even moved. 

That’s when he felt _it_. 

Draco didn’t see the figure that he encountered, but Draco _knew_ it was there. He could feel it’s presence. It was cold, and Draco shivered when he felt goose flesh prickle at his skin. He breathed out in a punched gasp, and his eyes widened when his breath turned to mist before his very eyes. 

The figure seemed to be looming over him, but when he turned around to see it, there was nothing but the continued nothingness. Draco opened his mouth to demand the figure reveal itself, but no sound came out. 

Then, as suddenly as it happened, Draco blinked and he was standing in his late Grandfather’s study. The sudden change caused Draco to stumble and he felt the familiar hold of his Grandfather steadying him. 

He turned to see his Grandfather’s apparition behind him and Draco hurriedly bowed before him to pay his respects. His Grandfather didn’t speak, but that was expected. The Sahamian Ritual merely showed you the apparition of your lost loved ones, but it did not pull them from their eternal rest. 

It was more like a two way mirror without audio. 

And there Draco sat for the rest of the Ritual, it felt like hours and minutes at the same time, until he opened his eyes to see the Great Hall once more. He went to sleep and tried his best not to think about the strange happenstance. 

He debated writing a letter to his father to ask if he knew about it, but ultimately decided against it. It was probably nothing, and Draco saw no need to bother his father with it. Draco let out a sigh, allowing his head to rest against his pillow, his eyes flitting about his empty dorm room. 

Suddenly the door slammed open, and Draco jumped. “Draco!” Theo cried, walking over to where Draco had been resting. “There you are! Come on, you’re going to be late for the feast!” 

“Oh, sorry,” Draco said, standing up. “I was just… thinking.” 

“Well let’s go! I think they’re serving pumpkin pastries for dessert tonight!” Theo exclaimed, tugging Draco along in a rare show of childishness. 

Draco followed Theo without complaint, and when the door to the dorm room closed, the silence of the empty room was broken by a raspy chuckle. 

An invisible figure watches as the two boys disappear from view. When He is alone, He drifts through the empty room absently. His hand cards through the curtains on the bed, and to the naked eye it would appear as though a breeze had ruffled them from out of nowhere. 

“ **So this is the Guardian?** ” the being asked. “ **How… quaint**.” 

Another chuckle escaped the being before He melted into the shadows, as though He were never there in the first place. 

On the bedside table, the carnations wilted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! In case you haven't noticed, I changed the summary for this book. I changed it to something that I felt better represented the plot of this book as well as where this book was going. If you haven't, go check out the new summary, because there is plenty of foreshadowing there! *wink wonk*
> 
>  **Fanfiction Rec:** Ribbon Tied Right written by Snowy_Rain  
> This is a tomarry where Voldemort doses himself with love potion and falls in love with Harry. Honestly, I love this fic, it's so original and hilarious, I just... it's so good. Go check it out!!!  
> \----------------  
> Snape: Did he...  
> Snape: Did he just say...  
> Snape: *slow, controlled inhale*  
> Snape: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME---


	29. 28: An Unexpected Opponent

**_-November 14 1991-_**  
Lucius was having the time of his life. When his Lord suggested he run for Minister, he could barely contain his excitement. When he’d returned home to his dear wife, Narcissa had expressed her support and showed the proper enthusiasm that Lucius was looking for. Together they created their campaign and gained the support of the public. It was a grueling and time draining task, but Lucius enjoyed every second of it. 

He always knew he was made to be something more. His Lord choosing him to be the Minister proved it. 

As Lucius walked into the New Ministry, he felt like he was on top of the world. People greeted him as he walked, his head poised in the air with dignity. When Lucius stepped into his office, he was greeted by several care packages, all addressed to ‘The Next Minister’. Lucius smirked at the sight and sat down and relaxed into his chair, feeling peaceful. 

“You finally did it,” Lucius whispered to himself, a smug smirk plastered on his face. “Minister of Magic.” 

The door suddenly opened, and Lucius contained his surprise with a scathing scowl. Standing at the threshold was some wizard that had been interning for the New Ministry. He let out a short squeak when he saw Lucius’s hardened expression. “Er… Mr---”

“Lord.” Lucius said with a deeper scowl. 

“Right, sorry, er, Lord Malfoy,” the wizard stumbled. “Um… Y-Your wife is here to see you… she said it’s urgent---” 

“Where is she?” Lucius said, biting back a rude response in favor of getting the bumbling fool out of here faster. 

“Right! She is a-at the front---” 

The door was pushed open wider to reveal an irate Narcissa. “I refuse to wait at the front of the building,” Narcissa said firmly, shooting a glare at the wizard. The wizard let out a stuttered, garbled response, but by then, Lucius wasn’t paying attention. He was too focused on the guarded expression on his wife’s face that hid her rage. 

“Hello, dear wife,” Lucius says, standing up to greet her. The wizard slips out of the room silently, and Narcissa closes the door and puts up several silencing wards. “Dearest?” 

“It appears that someone has stepped up to run against you,” Narcissa said, a brief lapse in her mask showed her righteous fury. “Would you care to see who it is?” 

Lucius walked over to where Narcissa stood, her back straight and in her hands, a folder with some parchment. Lucius looked over her shoulder to see a campaign poster and Lucius felt the wonderful feeling he had earlier, disappear. He looked at the parchment for a long time before he looked back at his wife. 

He opened his mouth to speak when his wife cut him off. 

“I’m not telling the Dark Lord.” she said firmly. 

Lucius sighed, his eyes darting towards the smiling figure on the poster. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

* * *

When Lucius requested a meeting with him, Voldemort expected it to be about how easy it was to gain favor with the public, or perhaps he was more expecting of Lucius to be pompous in his success and called his Lord here to brag in a subtle fashion. 

He wasn’t expecting this. 

“Lucius, Narcissa, welcome,” Voldemort said, nodding at them. He gestured for them to sit and they did, the pair sitting down in the comfortable love seat opposite to Voldemort’s armchair. “Lucius, tell me, how is running for Minister?” 

Lucius shifted, and a glimpse of an emotion flew across his face, but it was gone far too quickly for Voldemort to distinguish it. “It is… going quite well, My Lord,” Lucius said carefully. Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “I have quickly gained favor amongst the masses, and I was expecting it to be a simple election…” 

“And what changed?” Voldemort asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. 

“I… I have an opponent.” Lucius said stiffly. 

“An opponent?” Voldemort asked. “Well I suspect so, after all, it is a vote. You can’t win by default, Lucius. Tell me, what is the problem? Are you unable to win against an opponent?” 

“No, My Lord, having an opponent is not a problem…” Lucius said. Voldemort found himself growing tired of the round-about way the conversation was going. 

“Speak clearly, Lucius.” Voldemort said firmly. Lucius nodded. 

“Of course, My Lord,” he said. “The opponent itself is the problem. It is who I am running against that I believe you will find a problem with.” 

“And who might that be?” Voldemort asked, leaning against his chair. Lucius held firmly at his mask and Voldemort fought back an amused grin at the sight. What could shake the proud Lord so much? Lucius stood then and approached Voldemort’s chair, holding a folder. Voldemort took the folder and opened it, and all at once, his amused grin slid off his face. “I see.” 

Voldemort’s gaze bore holes in the parchment, and Voldemort contemplated setting it on fire, but ultimately decided against it. The grandfatherly smile and twinkly eyes seemed to stare back accusingly at him, and Voldemort tore his gaze away lest he blow up everything in his vicinity. 

“My Lord?” Lucius asked when Voldemort had been silent for too long. 

Voldemort tossed the folder to the side. “Well, that was certainly unexpected,” Voldemort said stiffly. “Bit it changes nothing. Lucius---” Voldemort’s voice dropped to a dangerous tint as he leveled Lucius with a deep glare. “---if you lose to _Albus Dumbledore_ your life is forfeit.” 

Lucius stared at Voldemort for a long second before he blinked and nodded. “I understand, My Lord.” 

Voldemort nodded and leaned back against his chair once more, the tense atmosphere from before lingering for a few more seconds before it disappeared when Little One toddled into the room. Voldemort smiled at his child as he entered the tense room, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere. He smiled brightly when he caught sight of Lucius and Narcissa and hurriedly reached into his bag to pull out a handful of daisies and tulips respectively, before he handed them to the pair. 

When Little One turned to greet Voldemort, his rage had all but dissipated, shoved back into the far corners of his mind to deal with later. Voldemort bent down to lift Little One into his lap and he buried his face in Little One’s curls for a few seconds before he pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and pulled back. 

“You are dismissed, Lucius, Narcissa,” Voldemort said. “Remember what I said. I expect your success and nothing less.” 

“Yes, My Lord,” Lucius said, standing with a bow. He nodded at Little One who waved back at him. Narcissa cooed at Little One for a few seconds before she too, bowed and took her leave. 

In the silence that followed, Little One entertained himself by playing with the fingers that were wrapped around his abdomen in a protective gesture. Voldemort took calming breaths, forcing himself to remain indifferent as thoughts of that manipulative old goat gaining the position of Minister… It could ruin everything! 

Voldemort breathed in deeply once more before he tightened his grip on his child and called his elf. The elf popped into the room, startling Little One. Voldemort gently carded his hand through Little One’s ink black hair as he spoke. “Notify Sirius Black and Remus Lupin that I require their presence immediately.” 

The elf bowed and popped out of existence. Voldemort sat in his chair for several minutes, content to hold his child in the comfortable silence, before the pair arrived. Their arrival was marked with the door opening and a surprised gasp leaving their lips at the sight of Little One sitting in his lap. 

Ah yes, they haven’t seen Little One since their disastrous meeting all those weeks ago. They eyed Little One with greedy eyes, and Voldemort bristled at the longing in their eyes. Voldemort fought back the urge to rip them to shreds, it would be counterproductive to his plans. (Besides, Voldemort knew that he held all the power, and the pair had no ability to sway Little One away from him.) 

Voldemort raised his eyebrow at the long silence that continued after their arrival. It only took a few seconds for Black to realize what Voldemort was waiting for. Voldemort smirked at the suppressed pride that shone in the man’s eyes as he bowed, his partner following suit. 

“My Lord,” Black said through grit teeth. “You requested us?” 

“I am aware that I did,” Voldemort said. “Tell me, what do you know of Dumbledore’s plans?” 

“He… he hasn’t called an Order Meeting in several weeks,” Lupin said with a frown. “I wasn’t made aware of any plans.” 

Voldemort hissed. “Then what use are you to me?” he snapped. “Dumbledore is running for Minister, and I need information.” 

“You would like us to gather information on Dumbledore’s campaign?” Lupin asked. Voldemort glared at him, his crimson eyes shining with fury, and Voldemort smirked internally when the werewolf flinched. 

“I expect you to gather information on Dumbledore’s campaign,” Voldemort corrected. “That is what you signed up for the second you agreed to be my spies. You don’t get to argue your assignments. Are we clear?” 

“Yes, My Lord,” Black said gruffly. “We will find the information as soon as possible.”

Voldemort nodded. “See that you do.” Voldemort snapped. “Dismissed.” 

They bowed once more before they stood, sending one last longing look towards Little One before they turned around to leave. Voldemort waited until they were at the door to call out. 

“Oh, and, Black, Lupin?” he called. They froze before they turned around to face him. Voldemort smirked cruelly at them. “Your attempts at defiance are amusing, but I remind you that _I_ am your Lord now, and if you want _your_ side of the bargain, you will treat me with respect. Is that understood?” 

The pair stood stiffly at the door as they nodded. “I… apologize for my disrespect… My Lord.” Lupin said, his hands clenched at his side. Voldemort smirked. 

“It is forgiven,” Voldemort said. “But I won’t always be so lenient. Now get out of my sight.” and then, because he could, Voldemort said to Little One, “Say ‘bye-bye’, Little One.” 

Their faces contorted in a beautiful mix of rage and longing before they erased all expressions from their faces while Little One held up his hand and wiggled his fingers in a soft wave before he whispered out, near silently, “Bye-bye.” at the couple. 

Black sucked in a sharp breath before he waved back at the toddler Inferius. “B-Bye-bye, Har---Little One.” 

Voldemort’s cruel smirk remained painted on his face until the couple left the room, devastation hidden in their eyes. With the door closed, Voldemort allowed himself to completely relax, spinning Little One around so that he could hug his child tightly. 

Dumbledore running for Minister could prove disastrous to his plans. If he succeeds in his campaign, and tries to write new laws and enforce ideals counterproductive to Voldemort’s reign, Voldemort may have to step in. Voldemort, despite stepping out of the public’s eyes, still held all the power in Magical Britain, however the last thing he needed was to cause another war because he kicked out the first democratically elected Minister since the New Ministry was founded. 

“Papa sad?” Little One whispered, a hand coming up to pat at Voldemort’s cheek. 

Voldemort smiled. “Don’t worry, precious, Papa’s just stressed out.” 

Little One let out a soft ‘Oh’ of understanding before he cuddled up to his chest, his face resting in the crook of Voldemort’s shoulder, and his curly hair tickling his cheek. “It will be okay, Papa,” Little One said softly. “Don’t be sad.” 

Voldemort smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to his son’s temple. “Alright, dear heart,” he said. “I won’t be sad.” 

And he wouldn’t be. Voldemort wouldn’t be sad, because this was a golden opportunity that had just dropped into his life. So instead of raging,instead of sulking, instead of brooding and instead of… being sad… 

Voldemort began to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what Voldemort has planned... 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** A Semblance of Normality written by BluBooBird  
> So this is a Tomarry where Harry is a obscurial and it's really really good! I literally love this fice so much! Kind of a severitus, but it's more like, uncle Severus. You should totally check it out!!!!  
> \--------------  
> Sirius: Fucking pompous Dark Lord  
> Sirius: Shoving Harry in our face  
> Sirius: Fucking Voldemort  
> Sirius: Asshole.


	30. 29: The Dark Lord and ??

**_-November 20 1991-_**  
“Thank you precious.” Voldemort said softly, a fond smile resting on his face as Little One beamed at him brightly, watching with glee as Voldemort bent down and accepted the bouquet of flowers. Voldemort set them in a vase by his bed and then lifted the happy toddler into his arms. Little One sat comfortably on his hip, his head resting in the crook of Voldemort’s shoulder. 

Voldemort walked with Little One down the stairs and through his castle, a disinterested mask resting calmly on his face. When he arrived in the kitchens, he placed a squirming Little One on a chair---tweaking the Inferius’s nose when he pouted at the distance---and called a House Elf to prepare their meals. Though he didn’t need to eat, Little One enjoyed having meals with Voldemort, and Voldemort, ever weak to spending time with the bright and cheery Infeirus, couldn’t refuse. 

Eating a morning meal with his son was calming, and it helped Voldemort mentally prepare himself for the nightmare that the day would surely bring. As Voldemort watched his son splatter himself with oatmeal, he pointedly refused to think about the speeches he’d be forced to listen to later this afternoon. 

Today was the day in which the two candidates for Minister of Magic were to give their speeches to the public, defending their position and explaining why they were the best option for the Republic. Voldemort didn’t want to suffer through Dumbledore’s speech, but as the Lord Supreme, he knew he was expected to be there. 

After the meal was over---Little One undoubtedly having more food on himself than inside his stomach---Voldemort was forced to get ready for the speeches. He set Little One in the bath and cleaned the oatmeal chunks out of his hair before he left him to play, Nagini watching guard while Voldemort got ready. 

Voldemort dressed in elegant robes, and he carefully combed his hair before he deemed himself acceptable. As Voldemort walked back into the bathroom, he fought back a groan at the sight of his soaked floor. Little One looked up from the rubber ducky that was currently fighting a war against the floating boat and waved at him, a silent giggle escaping his lips. Voldemort felt his face soften at his adorable son. Little One’s eyes narrowed, however, when he took in the sight of Voldemort’s state of dress. 

“Papa go ‘way?” he asked, his whisper echoing against the silent bathroom. 

“Papa has to go to the New Ministry today,” Voldemort answered, a wandless drying spell fixing the water soaked bathroom. “Nagini will be watching you today.” Said snake was currently resting her head against the edge of the bathtub, the rest of her body submerged in the warm, bubbly water. She flicked out her tongue before nodding in agreement. 

“ _I protect the hatchling_.” the hissed before resting her head on the rim of the tub once more. 

Little One’s emerald eyes glanced back and forth between Voldemort and Nagini, his eyebrows scrunched together as he debated whether he should throw a tantrum and insist Voldemort stay or if spending the day with Nagini was acceptable. Finally, Little One nodded and went back to attacking the floating boat with his rubber duck. 

Voldemort ducked his head gratefully, as he wasn’t in the particular mood to deal with his son’s tantrum today. (Although, he wouldn’t mind the excuse to stay home. Dealing with the eternal four-year-old sounded far better than dealing with the idiots at the New Ministry.) 

Voldemort sighed and checked the time with a scowl. It was time to go. He pressed a kiss to his son’s damp hair before he exited, leaving Nagini with specific instructions to protect Little One. She hisses at him, grumbling about how she is perfectly capable of protecting the child, but Voldemort is too far away to hear her complaints. 

When Voldemort apparates into the open square outside the front entrance to the New Ministry, it already bustling with people, and Voldemort fights back a sneer at the sheer number of people. Everyone is anxious to hear the speeches from the two candidates, and because of this, the people fill the small square and spill out into the streets around it. 

Voldemort appears in the box set aside for him and his Inner Circle. He nods at his favored followers, who bow in return, and he sits down in his throne. When he sees Dumbledore step up to the podium, he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, forcing his occlumency shields to strengthen and calm him down. 

“Good morning, my fellow witches and wizards,” he speaks, his irritating voice grating on Voldemort’s ears. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am here to run for your new Minister of Magic.” 

Several people in the crowd cheer, and Voldemort bites back a sneer. To his left he hears Bellatrix scoff. “What an old coot.” 

Voldemort smirks. “Quite so, my dear.” he says. 

“Our people have gone through so many drastic changes in the last few years,” Dumbledore continues. “And they need someone who they can trust to lead them into a better future. A future where we don’t have to live in fear for our blood status. A future where there is strong equality. A future where dangerous magic is regulated to protect our people.” 

“Dangerous magic? Please.” Rabastian scoffs. 

“For several decades, I have been the Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore says. “I have ensured the wellbeing and education of our children. I wish to expand on the education levels of our children, because, as you know, the children are our future. A strong country relies on a strong youth.” Dumbledore pauses before his gaze begins to trail through the crowd. Voldemort bristles internally when the old man stops on him, his blue eyes staring directly into Voldemort’s. 

“I aim to protect all children from the dangers of Dark Magic and it’s allures.” he says, his gaze not leaving Voldemort’s. 

Voldemort easily picks up on the double meaning of his statement, and Voldemort clenches his hands into fists. _How dare he_ … Voldemort grits his teeth while his crimson eyes flash dangerously. Dumbledore continues his speech, his eyes flickering away from the seething Dark Lord. 

“I also wish to teach our youth about all branches of magic, so that they might better protect themselves from the dangerous kinds,” Dumbledore says. “If you elect me, you are ensuring the safety and education of our children, and in doing so, strengthening our country.” 

He then pauses once more and smiles at the crowd. Voldemort imagines killing the old coot where he stands. 

“So please, vote for me and together, we will raise the Magical Republic of the British Isles above all other countries.” 

The crowd was silent for a moment as his words sunk in before applause filled the square. His Inner Circle all made sarcastic remarks while Voldemort found himself glaring daggers at the old man. 

Dumbledore waved cordially at the crowd, offering them his signature grandfatherly smile before he turned his head to once again meet Voldemort’s eyes. He held his gaze at Voldemort for a long time, and Voldemort found himself once again imagining his death. 

The moment was broken when the announcer stepped up to the podium and announced that Lucius would be giving his speech next. Dumbledore sent one last glance at Voldemort before he looked at the door to the New Ministry and then walked inside. 

Voldemort sat still for a moment before his curiosity won and he found himself apparating out of his booth and into the New Ministry in front of Dumbledore. As Lucius’s voice began to speak over the microphone, Voldemort crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the old man. 

“What are you doing?” he demands. 

“I don’t know what you mean, dear boy,” Dumbledore says, his gaze even and full of his kind facade. Voldemort grit his teeth. “I am merely running for Minister.” 

“I don’t buy it.” Voldemort hisses. “What are you playing at?” 

Dumbledore is silent for a moment, and Voldemort watches as indecision flashes briefly on his face before he speaks. “Tell me, Tom, what do you know about the prophecy?” 

Voldemort sneers at the mention of his muggle name. “Watch yourself, old man,” he snarls. “You will address me with respect or you will not address me at all.” 

“I apologize, Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore says, and Voldemort’s hand twitches with the overwhelming urge to strangle the old coot because he does not sound sorry in the slightest. Somehow the title sounds mocking from his lips. “I meant no disrespect. I remember you as my student, you see, and you know how memory is with old age.”

“Indeed,” Voldemort drawls, not amused in the slightest. He then frowns as he considers the words the old man had spoken moments earlier. “Prophecy?” 

Dumbledore smiles and nods.“Yes, the prophecy made about you and little Harry Potter in the summer of 1980.” 

Voldemort freezes at the mention of his child and his eyes narrow dangerously at the man standing in front of him. “What are you talking about?” Voldemort hisses. 

“There is a prophecy about you and the child you call your son.” Dumbledore says simply, oblivious to the tense atmosphere surrounding him. “I was under the impression you were aware of it.” 

Voldemort seethes. “Don’t play games with me, Dumbledore. Not when _he’s_ involved.” he snarled. He wasn’t willing to fool around when his son was involved, and if Dumbledore didn’t start speaking soon, Voldemort was liable to start throwing curses. “Speak clearly for once in your life or you won’t be alive for much longer!” 

Dumbledore merely sighs, as though he were disappointed in Voldemort’s answer. It made Voldemort want to curse him even more. “In the Hall of Prophecies you will see what I speak of,” he said. “A prophecy of you and Harry Potter.” 

Voldemort didn’t know what Dumbledore could possibly have to gain from telling him about it, but Voldemort wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to walk into the Hall of Prophecies alone, not if it was a trap. However Voldemort couldn’t just stay away, either. Not is Little One was involved. He refused to put his child at risk. He straightened his posture, adjusted his robes before he smiled at him. 

“Show me, then.” he said. This seemed to take Dumbledore by surprise, and Voldemort relished in it. 

“Very well.” he said before he turned around and began to walk in the direction of the Hall of Prophecies. 

Voldemort walked behind Dumbledore briskly, his hand holding his wand tightly. His eyes darted around him, scanning the halls for any sign of an ambush. He refused to be taken down by the old coot and his cronies. They entered the Hall of Prophecies easily and Voldemort followed Dumbledore through the dusty shelves. Countless orbs sat on the shelves, and they lined the walls as far as the eyes could see. How anyone could find anything in here was a mystery.

“Here it is, my boy.” Dumbledore said, pointing at a dusty orb. Voldemort narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he saw that the tag read _The Dark Lord and ??_. 

“How do you know this prophecy is about my son?” he asked skeptically. 

“Because I’ve heard it.” he said. “And I knew from the moment I saw Harry that it was referring to him.” 

Voldemort frowned but lifted the prophecy from the shelf. He looked at Dumbledore one last time before he rubbed the glass orb. Instantly a dreamy voice began to speak. “ _The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches …_ ” 

Voldemort’s eyes were wide as he took in the prophecy. He ran the math in his head quickly. The timeline fit---Little One was born on the 31 of July, just a few minutes before midnight. Voldemort wasn’t sure about the other parts of the prophecy, specifically the parts where Little One couldn’t live while Voldemort was alive. Nor did he like the part where his son was apparently his prophesied downfall. 

Suddenly, the orb grew hot. Voldemort flinched at the sudden heat and frowned as the prophecy suddenly began to repeat itself over and over, each repeat faster than the last. “This isn’t supposed to happen…” Voldemort said. 

“No, it’s not.” Dumbledore agreed. 

Suddenly the orb began to shake, vibrating violently against Voldemort’s hands. Without warning, the orb violently shattered. Voldemort watched as a white mist escaped the shattered remains and floated in the air before the mist suddenly disappeared. 

Voldemort frowned. “I suppose there is no prophecy.” he said, dusting the shards of glass off his robes. “Thanks for wasting my time yet again, Dumbledore.” 

He then turned around and walked calmly out of the Hall of Prophecies. 

Dumbledore just stood there, his eyes wide. “Or the prophecy has already been fulfilled…”

**Thanks for the lovely fan art, AJ!! :)))**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! :)))
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** You were there for me through gifts written by Nandhu_Author  
> This is a really cute Tomarry where Harry sends gifts to Tom Riddle through accidental magic and becomes determined to protect him while Tom is determined to find his angel... and keep him forever. Go check it out, it's really good!!!  
> \---------------  
> Bellatrix: Would you like the first throw, or should I?  
> Rabastian: I'll stock up on ammunition.  
> Rabastian: I'd like all of your tomatoes, please  
> Bellatrix: They're for a good cause!


	31. 30: The Immortal Lord

**_-November 20 1991-_**  
If there was a hell, this would surely be it. Never before had Severus longed for the sweet release of death, but as he stood there, watching the two people he hated most duel, Severus found himself wishing for eternal sleep. When the Dark Lord told him he was to train the two new recruits, Severus thought he’d gotten off easy. 

Then the Dark Lord told him the recruits' names and Severus wanted to cry. 

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin fought against each other in a mock duel in the Dark Lord’s dueling room. Severus had regretfully called them forward for their training, resigning himself to the fact that he’d be forced to be around them for a substantial amount of time. Months in the very least, as it took a while to get recruits ready for the missions that the Dark Lord required of them. 

“This is a waste of time! I already know how to duel!” 

Severus wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with these two for the next few months. 

“Are you able to duel to the Dark Lord’s standard?” Severus bit back, crossing his arms against his chest. “Because I’m watching a pair of dancing chickens, not a duel.” 

“Shut up! You don’t know anything Sniv---” 

Black let out a yelp when Severus’s overpowered stinging hex hit him in the behind. The sudden shock caused him to stumble, and his extra momentum caused him to fall to the ground with a loud thud. Severus withheld his smirk in favor of stalking over to him and hefting him up by the collar of his robes. 

“Do _not_ address me that way,” Severus snarled. “I am training you so that the Dark Lord doesn’t _slaughter_ you on sight. Treat me with respect, Black, because your life depends on it!” 

The room was silent for a long time, the only noise coming from the harsh inhales from the two wizards as they attempted to regain their air. Finally Severus scoffed and let go, Black falling to the ground with another thud. Severus turned around and walked back to his position by the wall, and waved his hand, bidding them to continue. 

The sounds of fighting filled the room once more, and time passed silently, only the occasional bout of conversation, usually from Severus calling out a mistake or flaw in their fighting style, and Black fighting back. 

“Can’t believe we’re missing the speeches for this,” Black drawled, snapping Severus’s attention to him. “I mean, Dumbledore is speaking, you have to admit, it’s gotta be entertaining.” 

“The Dark Lord gave you an order,” Severus responded dryly. “You’d be a fool to ignore it.” 

“I wasn’t saying that,” Black sighed dramatically. “I’m just saying that Dumbledore’s speech is probably going to piss off the Dark Lord, and that’s gotta be funny.” 

“Be silent, Black, before you get yourself killed!” Severus hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “Honestly! Have you no filter between your brain and your mouth? Oh who am I kidding, of course you don’t.” 

“Who cares? There’s no one here but us?” Black asked, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. 

“If you truly believe that, then you are more of a fool than I took you for,” Severus snapped. “We are in the Dark Lord’s castle. He has eyes everywhere!” 

Black opened his mouth to argue, but Lupin stepped forward and pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder. Black whipped his head over at Lupin only for the werewolf to shake his head. Black all but deflated and nodded. 

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I need to be more careful with my words. I… apologize.” 

Severus stared at him for a long time before he scoffed. “That must’ve been painful.” 

“It really was,” Black replied, just as bitingly. Then he sighed and looked back at his partner helplessly. 

“Severus? Do you… Do you know when we’ll be allowed to see Harry again?” Lupin asked, twisting his hands anxiously. “It’s just… we’ve done everything he’s asked but we haven’t seen him still---”

“Stop calling him that.” Severus said harshly. Lupin blinked in surprise at the harsh tone. 

“What?”

“His name is Little One.” Severus said. “Not Harry. It doesn’t matter who he used to be, because that’s not who he is anymore. So stop calling him that.” 

“Oh… right…” Lupin said softly, staring at the ground despondently. Severus sighed, dragging his hand down his face before he spoke. 

“I can’t answer that question, Lupin, because I don’t know,” he said. “It’s better if you don’t focus on it too much. You’ll see him soon enough.” 

“Th-Thank you, Severus, really. It means a lot---”

“Get back to dueling,” Severus snapped, interrupting Lupin before he could continue… whatever it was that was happening. “We don’t have time for these interruptions.” 

They continued to duel for a few more hours, and Severus attempted to ignore the strange behavior that he just witnessed. Why were they acting so strange? Black, well, he was an asshole as usual, but Lupin was acting strangely… nice? 

Severus forcibly thrust that thought out of his mind and strengthened his occlumency barriers. He refused to think about that. 

It wasn’t until later, when they took a break for water, did the strange behavior hit it’s peak. 

“Are you the reason he’s safe, now?” Lupin asked, breaking the silence as they were hydrating. “Why Peter is gone?” 

Severus froze, his entire body stiffening at the question. Severus slowly turned back to look at the pair, his eyes narrowed as he searched for any sign of accusation. He saw none. Severus swallowed his water before he looked back at the door behind him as he spoke. 

“My loyalty was always to the Dark Lord,” he says carefully. “I… made a mistake coming to Dumbledore. One that I couldn’t undo.”

“Because of the oath?” Lupin asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“Because of the oath,” Severus confirmed. “But… My loyalty isn’t _just_ to the Dark Lord. It is also to Little One.” 

He can practically feel them freeze, the atmosphere suddenly tense. “To Har---Little One? Why?” Black asked carefully. 

“It’s what I promised Lily.” Severus answers, ignoring the sharp inhales behind him. “She met with me, a few months before he was born, asking--- _begging_ me to save her child. She… she knew she wasn’t going to live much longer and she wanted me to protect her son.” 

“She said that?” Black asked, his voice tinged with grief. 

Severus nodded silently. “It was her final request to me. And I am honoring it.” 

It was silent for a long time as Severus’s words sunk in. Severus leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, as the memories flew over him. His last encounter with Lily… The things he wished he said back when there was still time.

“I’m sorry.” 

Severus’s blood turns to ice because he knows, he _knows_ damn it, what that bastard is apologizing for. 

“Don’t---” 

“Please.” Remus’s voice was soft, yet it bounced off the walls of the empty training deck. Severus swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. It silent once more, and Severus has never felt more uncomfortable. 

So of course Black makes it worse. 

“Severus Snape.” he says suddenly, causing Severus to snap his head up, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as Black approaches him. Severus' mask drops, however, when Black bows. “I give you my sincerest apologize for the way I treated you as children. As well as the way I treated you as an adult. You did not deserve that. I was in the wrong.” 

Severus is stunned silent and he takes a step back. “Why…?” 

“I was too caught up in my personal problems and I took them out on you, I held a grudge and for that I am so sorry,” Black continued. “You have shown that you care about Har---... Little One… and for that I am eternally grateful. I can never repay what I have done to you, but I hope, in time, I can come close.” 

Severus couldn’t speak. He had no words. What… Why… He needed to _leave_. He took in a sharp breath. “I’m leaving.” he said sharply. Black only nodded and it added to Severus’s turmoil. He spun around and marched out of the training deck as quickly as possible. He leaned against the brick wall and sucked in a harsh breath. Why would Black suddenly do… _that_? 

Severus shook his head forcibly. “Damn Back.” he whispered harshly. “What’s your endgame, here?”

* * *

When Voldemort returned to the castle from the New Ministry, every part of him was on edge. The prophecy… the prophecy imploded on itself, so that meant the prophecy was either fake or… 

When Voldemort entered his room, he smiled at the sight of his son snuggled up in his sheets, Nagini wrapped around him protectively as she hissed a story to the sleepy toddler. The sight warmed Voldemort’s insides and chased away the wariness that filled him. 

“Hello dear heart,” Voldemort cooed, brushing a stray strand of inky hair out of his son’s sleepy face. Little One’s eyes brightened with recognition, but the exhaustion soon pulled him under. Little One held a hand up and weakly grabbed at Voldemort’s robes, but otherwise remained undisturbed. He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead. “Sleep now, precious.” 

Voldemort then turned and walked into his study, resigning himself to an evening of boring paperwork. 

A sudden drop in temperature causes Voldemort’s eyes to widen. The room, previously warm from the fire, turned icy. Voldemort glanced at the fire to see it dancing brightly against the hearth, but he felt none of it’s warmth. When Voldemort breathes out, his breath turns to mist. 

He blinks and startles at the change of scenery. He is standing in a blank nothingness, void of anything. Voldemort lets out a harsh gasp and stumbles forward, his head snapping around him, desperately seeking out anything familiar. 

Where is he? Where is Nagini? Where is his son? 

His son! Where is--- 

“Little One! Little One, where are you precious? Come to Papa, please!” Voldemort shouts, his knees buckling from the sudden emptiness he feels. “Please, Little One… where…” 

Suddenly he feels a presence behind him. It’s unbelievably sudden. One second there is nothing, the next, Voldemort feels the being behind him, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. His appearance was silent, just as everything else was. 

But when Voldemort whirled around to attack, he found nothing but the continued nothingness. Voldemort hissed, his crimson eyes darting around, searching for the nameless, faceless _thing_ that he felt, and continued to find nothing. 

“Show yourself!” Voldemort demanded. “Show yourself, you coward!” 

Voldemort felt his insides _freeze_ when he heard a chuckle from directly behind him. 

“ **I know not why my Dear Sister favors you so** ,” the thing said, and Voldemort shivered at the thing’s voice. It was deep and raspy and sounded as though hundreds of other voices overlapped it. Voldemort flinched when he felt something caress his cheek, and a shiver ran down his spine at the gentle touch. “ **You have strayed from me, my dear**.” it said, sounding almost wistful before it’s voice hardened once more. “ **And stolen from me**.” 

“And what is it that I have stolen?” Voldemort demanded, ignoring the fear he felt. His facade seemed to amuse the being as it chuckled again. 

“ **My Master**.” the being said, his voice as hard as a thousand knives. Voldemort winced at the enraged tone. Suddenly the phantom feeling was back, and this time, the being cupped Voldemort's face, a thumb gently rubbing down his cheek. The being’s voice sounded soft, almost sad when he spoke again. “ **And your soul**.” 

“My _soul_ \---” 

“ **Farewell, my dear Immortal Lord** ,” the being said. “ **I dare say, we shall see each other again**.” 

Voldemort blinked, his head spinning as a disorienting feeling overcame him before he was once again sitting in his study. He sputtered, his chair clattered to the floor as he suddenly stood, his head snapping back and forth, searching for anything that proved what just happened _actually_ happened.

There was nothing. 

Nothing, except the wilted bouquet of Spider Lilies on his desk. Voldemort stared as the bouquet he had received from his son yesterday crumbled and wilted until there was nothing left but a pile of petals on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Read the Tags** ;)
> 
>  **Fanfiction Rec:** Parenting in all its glory written by Konilt  
> This is a My Hero Academia fic featuring a possessive, protective All For One trying to parent his son, Izuku Midoriya. This is actually really good! You should totally go and check it out!!!  
> \------------------  
> Author: Should...  
> Author: Should I make this a Severus/Remus/Sirius  
> Author: ...?


	32. -Interlude-

**_-3000 B.C-_**  
The blank void stretches on for infinity. The room stretches in a way no mortal could understand, one could walk for all of eternity in one direction and never reach the end, similarly, one could walk in said direction for five minutes and somehow find themselves on the other side of where they started. The place could confuse one’s mind until they were nothing more than babbling children, struggling to comprehend it’s depth. There were no colors in this place, just as there were no shapes and no way to tell if the blak nothingness was a room, a castle, a mansion, or a tiny box. It was an endless expanse of white, and everything blended together so much so that the floor looked like the ceiling, and one would not be able to tell up from down unless they were standing on the floor. 

This was what one called ‘Purgatory’. 

This was where the Beings resided. 

Thousands of miles in the void---or perhaps they stood only feet away from you---the Beings sat together. Here, where the Beings lounged, the nothingness void warped into a lush room. The furniture was scarce, but what they did have was beautiful and extravagant. Pillars of white, marbled with the tiniest specks of grey and black (the only color in the entire realm) lined the room. In the center of this ‘room’, sat two lush chairs, completely opposite to each other, both in design and position, centered around a small table and an elegant chess set. 

The chair on the right was as white as the rest of the void, and it would have blended into the blank nothingness if not for the defining texture that forced it to stand out against the blank canvas. It was beautiful, carved of what one would consider marble, and the chair legs, arm rests, and back of the chair were all sculpted in what appeared to be root patterns. If one looked closer, they’d see tiny carved foliage at the top of the back of the chair, making the chair look as though it were a carved tree. 

The chair on the left, however, looked so different it was almost comical. It was startling dark---an opposing void of black nothingness that stood out against the white. The chair seemed to be made of living shadows that twisted and squirmed, as though it was fighting it’s form. The chair gave off an ominous presence that seemed to heavy the atmosphere around it, mirroring it’s owner who currently sat in it. 

Said owner was currently pouting, the Being’s form was half covered by the shadows of the chair He sat in, His head resting on His hand as He stared at the chess set in front of Him with despair. 

A high pitched laugh echoed across the blank nothingness and the Being only pouted further. 

“ **Stop pouting** ,” the other Being said, a bemused expression resting on Her ethereal features. “ **It is unbecoming of you.** ” 

“ **Everyone is afraid of me** ,” the Being whined, His features pulling into a closed scowl. “ **It’s not fair. I’m getting bored!** ” 

“ **Then play a game with me** ,” the second Being suggested, gently lifting the black pawn and holding it out to Her counterpart. “ **I’ll provide you with entertainment.** ” 

The first Being leveled Her with a deadpanned stare. “ **Why do you always get to have fun?** ” the Being asked, resigning Himself to another game as He reluctantly took the chess piece. “ **The mortals love you. They build shrines for you! Never me, and that’s not fair!** ” 

“ **They’ve built shrines for you, Dear Brother.** ” She said, moving Her white pawn to attack His. 

“ **Out of fear.** ” the Being said bitterly, watching with disinterest as She took His rook. 

“ **So?** ” She said, looking at Him with a raised eyebrow. “ **Is that not what you wanted?** ” 

The Being said nothing for a very long time. The game commenced silently, just as several other had, and He wanted with a blank expression as His Dear Sister took His king, ending the chess game. 

Death looked at His Dear Sister for a long while, long enough for Fate to reset Her chess board before He spoke again. 

“ **I’m still bored.** ”

* * *

**_-200 A.D-_**  
The room stood, just as it always had, unchanged. The passing of time was insignificant in this place, and it did not follow a linear fashion. What may have been yesterday could feel like a thousand lifetimes ago, likewise, what may have happened a century ago would feel like it had occurred mere seconds prior. 

Here, in this room, the extravagant furniture still stood, the two Beings still sat, and the game of chess still continued. 

“ **A new civilization has arisen** ,” Death said, moving His pawn two spaces forward, inching His way closer to His Dear Sister’s bishop. Fate hummed to show Her interest. “ **They call themselves ‘Mayan’. I find them rather entertaining.** ” 

“ **Does it have anything to do with their sacrifices?** ” Fate asked, looking at Her Dear Brother with a raised eyebrow. Death said nothing, choosing to continue the game. 

As Death moves his rook closer to the bishop, Fate makes Her move. Death watches with resignation as She conquers his last rook and sets Her sights on His king. Death knows that He won’t win, but He had gotten closer to beating Her than He had in centuries, so He counted it as a personal victory. 

“ **I hear they sacrifice quite often** ,” Fate muses, moving Her bishop so that it might conquer His pawn. “ **You seem to visit them frequently. Are they entertaining, Dear Brother?** ” 

Death watches as His second to last pawn is taken by His Dear Sister’s bishop. “ **Far more entertaining than being beaten by you again and again, Dear Sister.** ” Death acknowledges. 

Fate’s bishop, after finishing off His last pawn, is pushed closer towards the only piece guarding His king: His queen. “ **And yet you continue to play.** ” Fate points out, gleefully attacking His queen.

“ **Alas, I fear I am holding on to the hope that I might beat you one day, Dear Sister.** ” Death says, smiling triumphantly when His queen takes Her bishop. He vanishes the bishop with a pointed smile. 

“ **If you wish to beat _me_ , Dear Brother**,” Fate says, moving an unnoticed rook into the perfect position to attack His king. Death’s triumphant expression bleeds off His face. “ **You’ll need to become better at strategy. Check.** ” 

Death moves His queen, unable to attack the rook, and resigning His last bit of protection to be taken by Fate’s rook. “ **I am quite good at strategy** ,” Death muses. “ **No mortal could beat me.** ” 

“ **Is that why you visit the mortal realm so frequently?** ” Fate asks, moving the rook to conquer the queen. “ **To best them at chess? Check.** ” Fate’s rook stands in perfect position to take Death’s king.

“ **I go for entertainment** ,” Death says, moving His king out of the trajectory of Fate’s rook, unknowingly placing Himself in the perfect position for Fate’s knight to conquer Him. “ **The mortals can be quite entertaining, even if it gets old rather quick.** ” 

Fate merely smirks at Him. “ **Your entertainment will come, Dear Brother, do not fret.** ” She then gleefully takes his king, ending the game. “ **Checkmate.** ”

* * *

**_-January 7 1605-_**  
The room holds only one occupant, and She sits in Her chair with an air of as She looks at the half-played chess set in front of Her. Her opponent had left quite suddenly in the middle of Their game, and had yet to return. She looked up, however, when the chair of shadows writhed about, changing shape to form Her Dear Brother’s figure, appearing from the shadows. 

He does not sit in His chair to continue the game, however, choosing instead to pace around the room of emptiness. Fate watches with disinterest as Her Dear Brother mutters angrily to Himself. 

“ **Has something happened?** ” Fate finally asks, eliciting another round of angry mutters. 

“ **No! And that’s the problem!** ” Death cries, throwing His hands up in the air with a frustrated huff. 

“ **You are upset… because nothing has happened?** ” Fate asks, eyeing Her Dear Brother speculatively. 

“ **Quite so** ,” Death says, continuing to pace about Their space. “ **Nothing has happened in centuries. I. Am. _Bored_.**” 

Fate sighs. “ **Is that all? I feared something was wrong.** ” 

“ **Something _is_ wrong! Did you not hear me? I’m _bored_!**” Death hissed. Fate moved Her knight, continuing the game that Death had walked out on minutes earlier. (Or perhaps He’d left decades ago, Fate wasn’t quite sure.) 

“ **You are always bored, Dear Brother** ,” Fate said, ignoring Death’s irritated huffs. “ **What about the reformation? I hear it’s quite messy.** ” 

Death scoffs. “ **This is not the first time religion has been reformed** ,” He said. “ **I doubt it will be the last.** ” 

“ **It will not** ,” Fate confirmed. “ **But it is still entertaining, is it not?** ” 

Death shrugs. “ **You’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times.** ” 

“ **If you’re not going to watch the Protestant Reformation, then come, sit. It’s your turn.** ” Fate says, holding out a black knight towards Her Dear Brother’s brooding form. Death eyes the chest piece with distaste. 

“ **You’re going to win anyway, Dear Sister. Why do you insist we play?** ”

Fate merely grins at him. “ **Because it’s not about the winning, Dear Brother, it’s about the _strategy_.**”

* * *

**_-August 15 1900-_**  
Over the years, Death has grown more and more restless. It was not uncommon to see His shadowy form pacing about the blank room, near silent mutters escaping His mouth. Over the years, Fate had grown accustomed to Her Dear Brother’s woes, yet She hated to see Him so discontent. 

Fate sighed softly as She watched Her Dear Brother melt into the room via His shadow chair again, ignoring the laid out chess set in favor of pacing about the room madly, His arms waving about to accompany His furious mutters. 

“ **Come, sit with me Dear Brother.** ” She called out to Him. 

Death eyes Her suspiciously. “ **Why?** ”

“ **My Dear Brother** ,” Fate says softly. “ **I’ve noticed your restlessness, and I have answered you.** ” 

Death raised an eyebrow. “ **Oh?** ” 

“ **Quite** ,” Fate said. “ **I’ve given you a place… very soon in the future you shall have a companion.** ” 

“ **A companion?** ” Death says, surprise taking over His face and lacing His words. Fate nods. 

“ **I believe the reason as to your boredom is because you are lonely.** ” 

Death laughed, the sound of thousands of voices overlapping each other while chuckling bounced off the pillar walls. “ **I am Death, how can I be lonely?** ” 

Fate only moved her pawn two spaces before gesturing towards Death to make His move. “ **All become lonely, Dear Brother, even you.** ” 

Death paused at this, and he slowly leaned forward to look at his pieces. Of his eight pawns, only five remained, and they were scattered about the board. This game had been long abandoned---several decades if His math was correct, but Fate did not seem bothered by the wait. Then again, time was such a finicky thing here.

“ **A companion, you say?** ” He asks, His head tilting as He considers it. What a strange idea it is; to have a companion. Whatever would they do? What would be their purpose? 

Fate nods once again. “ **He shall be borne soon. He will be special, different. Your companion shall surprise you but he shall complement you in every way.** ” Fate says, watching as Death moves His rook to conquer Her knight, a mere two spaces away from His king. “ **Someone made just for you.** ” 

Death smiles slowly, true glee overtaking Him at the thought. Perhaps Fate was right, perhaps He was lonely. He’d often see mortals spending time with their families and friends---Death had always thought it endearing, the way they would hang onto other mortals tightly, only to grieve when He inevitably came to reap them.

Death had never considered having something like that for Himself. It had always been Him and His Dear Sister. He had never given much thought to it, but now that He consciously thought about it, He was quite lonely. 

Having a companion to spend the rest of eternity with sounded quite nice, actually. 

“ **Then I await his birth eagerly.** ”

* * *

**_-February 18 1942-_**  
“ **How _dare_ he do such a thing!**” Death snarls, His form starting to dissipate from the rage. While Death had a mortal form, here, in this place, He chose not to use it. His actual form was that of shadows. His figure was skeletal, and even His face was that of a skull, the empty eye sockets glowing a bright green light, but His body was covered in inky black nothingness---a blank void that mirrored His own realm, opposite to His Dear Sister’s realm that was a white void. The shadows that covered Him twisted and writhed about with rage, appearing to unravel. His chair mirrored His form. 

Fate watches as He stomps about the room with seething fury. “ **What has happened?** ” She asks. Death whirls around to face Her, and accusing, bony finger points at Her. 

“ **Do not act as though you don’t know!** ” He hisses. 

“ **Quite** ,” Fate says simply. “ **Of course I am aware of what has angered you so. I was merely being polite.** ”

“ **Did you not think it prudent to tell me?** ” Death demanded. “ **This was something I should’ve known about!** ”

“ **I disagree.** ” Fate countered, waving Her hand and resetting the chess set in front of Her for a new game. Death eyed the board with anger. 

“ **I do not wish to play a game right now** ,” He said, his hands clenching into fists. “ **I am far too angry.** ” 

Fate merely levels Him with a deadpanned stare. He stares at Her for a long second (or perhaps it was hours?) before He sighs and relent, sitting down in His still-writhing-with-anger chair and wordlessly moves a pawn forward. 

“ **It needed to happen.** ” Fate says finally, ignoring Her Dear Brother’s sharp inhale. They didn’t need to breathe, but on this occasion, Death was far too upset to care. 

“ **It _needed_ to happen?**” Death repeats incredulously. “ **It is the ultimate offense! What he’s done---** ”

“ **It was necessary.** ” 

“ **It is _blasphemy_!**” 

“ **Tom Riddle will soon do incredible things** ,” Fate says simply, taking His knight with Her bishop. “ **His slights will be forgiven because he is following my plan, just as he was meant to.** ”

“ **You _planned_ for him to split his soul?!**” Death cried, aghast. 

“ **You will understand soon.** ” Fate said, watching with glee as, in His anger, Death makes a careless move that leaves His king defenseless. 

“ **I think not!** ” Death says with great offense. 

Fate merely moves Her bishop into position. “ **Check.** ” She says, watching as Her Dear Brother snarls. “ **And I assure you, Dear Brother, you will.** ” 

And as She moves to checkmate, Death snarls and continues to rage about the great offense done to Him, She smirks.

It is all coming together.

* * *

**_-July 31 1980-_**  
The hospital room is bright and full of people rushing about, frantically calling for a healer as the woman falls into labor. Beside her, her husband holds her hand and whispers words of encouragement while fear floods his face. A man pushes through the crowd, calling out, “Okay, Mrs. Potter, get ready to push.” 

As the nurses surround the woman, the healer kneels before her, and her husband presses a teary-eyed kiss to her forehead. She lets out an ear shattering scream as the pain overwhelms her, and she begins to push. 

In the panic, no one notices the sudden chill in the room---or if they do, they think nothing of it. No one takes notice of the breeze that appeared out of nowhere in the closed room, no windows open. As the woman with apple-red hair screams, two figures appear in the room, invisible to the mortal eye. 

“ **Why have you called me here?** ” Death asks, looking at His Dear Sister in slight confusion. None of the mortals can hear them, but Death watches with mild amusement as the healer’s skin prickles with goose flesh. 

“ **I have called you here because I know you won’t want to miss this.** ” Fate says cryptically. 

Death eyes the scene before him with a raised eyebrow. “ **And what exactly is _this_?**” 

“Gimme one last push, Mrs. Potter! I can see the head!” the healer cries, and the red haired woman lets out another cry as she pushes. The man beside her pets her sweaty hair and offers her words of encouragement and praises. 

“ ** _This_ is the birth of your destined Master.**” Fate says, watching with a smirk as Her Dear Brother freezes with shock before a look of pure joy spreads across His face. 

Death had given up three of His most prized possessions a few centuries ago in the hopes of speeding up the process of finding His companion. Fate had said nothing to discourage Him, even though She knew that none of the mortals who fought for Death’s favor would become His Master. 

Fate had made complex plans and had already foreseen who would be His companion. He was born for this, His genes carefully selected through centuries of ancestors, all for the sole purpose of being Death’s companion. Death’s belongings would not be gathered by just anyone, no, they would be gathered by Death’s destined Master. 

“ **My… My Master?** ” Death asked, His voice raw and vulnerable. 

Fate smiled at the raw emotion that passed over Her Dear Brother’s face. “ **Yes, Dear Brother** ,” She said softly. “ **He will become your Master.** ” 

A piercing cry echoed through the hospital room as cheers erupted from the nurses and doctor, and a triumphant, yet exhausted smile rested on the woman’s face. Death watched a baby boy was held up towards the man, and cradled in a soft cloth. 

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter,” the healer said with a smile. “It's a healthy baby boy!” 

The man lets out a relieved, teary laugh and looks at the bundle with awe. Death is in a similar state, His empty sockets glowing brightly as they fixate on the bundle in the mortal’s arms. The man hands the bundle to the woman who lays in the bed and she smiles down at the newborn. 

“Harry,” she says, her voice full of love and adoration. “His name is Harry James Potter.” 

“ **Harry James Potter,** ” Death breathes, His voice full of wonder. “ **He’s _perfect_.**” 

Death watches as he takes his first breath, watches as he lets out his first cry, watches as his master is named---Harry James Potter---and he watches as he is surrounded by the love of his parents. 

Death lets a single tear drip down His face. 

Finally, He won’t be alone anymore.

* * *

**_-January 3 1984-_**  
It happened while They sat around the table, another game of chess in the process. Death had attached an anchor to Harry after he’d been born, that way, he’d be aware of anything serious that happened to his Master and future companion. It was during this game of chess when Death felt the tugging of his anchor. 

Death feels His Master’s soul bleed closer to His realm and excitement courses through Him. Finally! His Master is coming! 

Death let’s out an excited shout before He melts into the shadows of His chair. Had He stayed for just a second longer, He would’ve seen Fate’s surprised face and confusion. 

Death appears from the shadows in front of number 4 Privet Drive, His glowing eyes taking in the scene before Him with greed. His Master’s house lay in rubble at His feet, blood and bodies lay splayed about in the mess. In the center of it all, His Master laid in a pool of his own blood, said crimson liquid still leaking out of his throat sluggishly. 

Death scowls when He sees the only other living being in the field. Tom Marvolo Riddle stands in the rubble, his eyes wide with horror as they gaze upon the dying figure on the ground. Death watches with annoyance as the man kneels before His Master---He was still bitter about the horcruxes---and struggles to staunch the blood flow. 

His efforts are for naught, as Death feels His Master’s soul enter His realm. 

Standing above his now cooling body, His Master is hunched in on himself, his soul staring with wide eyes at his dead body and the grieving figure above it. Death’s smile widens as He approaches the newly dead soul. 

His Master turns to face Him with wide eyes, and His Master let’s out a soft whimper at the sight of Him. Death winces, but He knows He must look scary to His young Master---who died quite young, now that Death thought about it.

“Who… Who… are you?” His Master asks, his soul trembling. “Why is… Papa cryin’?” 

Death allows His mortal form to take over, covering His grand skeletal and shadowy form in the hopes of putting His young Master at ease. Death pulls His Master into a tight embrace, and Death relishes in the feeling of completeness He never knew He was missing. 

“ **I am Death** ,” He said, running His fingers through His Master’s inky black hair. 

“Am… Am I dead?” His Master asks, eyes wide. 

“ **You are, but do not be afraid. You are safe now.** ” Death coos, running His hands down His Master’s back soothingly. 

Before His Master has the chance to say more, a horrific scream fills the silence of the night. Death turns His head just in time to see Tom Riddle---“The Immortal Lord” as His Dear Sister calls him---complete a ritual that Death had hoped would never be performed again. 

Death lets out a rage filled scream as His Master’s soul is forcibly tugged away from Him and forced back into his broken body. Death watches with horror as His Master is ripped away from Him and forced back to life. The Immortal Lord embraces His stolen Master and promises to keep him safe, and a rage Death has never known fills Him. 

He stays long enough to hear His Master sob out, “Papa?” before He can bear to watch no longer. 

He appears in the blank void, furious. He intends to scream at His Dear Sister, to hurl accusations at the Being who swore that He would have a Master only to freeze at the sight that greeted Him. 

Fate’s chess pieces lay scattered on the floor.

* * *

**_-November 20 1991-_**  
Death enters the void, confusion swirling around inside Him after the conversation He just had. It was a normal conversation, and it shouldn’t have filled Him with all these conflicting emotions, and yet it did. He didn’t know how to describe the feelings that rose inside His chest. 

He had assumed that He would feel enraged after His meeting with the Immortal Lord, and yet all He felt was a mess of affection, amusement and longing. All of these emotions made no sense, and He struggled to find the reason as to why He felt this way. 

He looked up when He felt eyes burning into His back. He is greeted by the sight of a smirking Fate. 

“ **What is it?** ” He asks. 

“ **My pieces have returned to their place.** ” She says. Death looks at her sharply. Fate’s pieces never returned to their place on the board after His Master’s forceful resurrection. Yet, if what His Dear Sister said is true then… 

“ **How am I to get my companion when my Master resides in Magic’s domain?** ” he demands. Fate just cackles. 

“ **Why do you assume your Master is your Companion?** ” 

Death is silent for a long time as Fate laughs. When Fate finally calms down she lifts a black pawn off the board and holds it out to Death. 

“ **Come, Dear Brother, play another round with me.** ”

* * *

END OF PART ONE

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! That's the end of Part One guys, it took a while to get here. Part Two will kick off with the huge plot and we'll really get into the relationship tags. Unfortunately... 
> 
> ...I will be going on a brief hiatus while the rest of Part two is finished. Don't worry! This book is _not_ abandoned! I will be back, that's a promise! Expect updates for this book to start up again around the beginning of September. In the meantime, however, I will be expanding on 'A Graveyard Reunion', which, in case anyone forgot, is the second installation in this series. A lot of people have asked me to make more chapters for it, so I figured I'd do that while you wait on Part Two for LOWG. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading so far! Please stick with me! I'll be back soon! 
> 
> ~~(Shit's about to go down real soon.)~~
> 
> Also, because I love you all, take a shit ton of recs from me to hold you over!!!
> 
> **Fanfiction Recs: (x4)**   
> -Conversations with a Cryptid written by AMournfulHowlInTheNight (another Dad For One fic bc I'm obsessed!)  
> -You're bleeding because you don't floss written by Arualiaa (Tomarry ft. Serial Killer!Tom)  
> -Surge De Hydra written by Watermelonsmellinfelon (Creature fic, ft. Tomarry)  
> -Submerged (Deep in Dark Waters) written by mouth_breathero11 [possibly a 0] (Obsessive IronDad ft. Dark!Tony)  
> \-------------------  
> Author: Thanks for reading this far!  
> Author: *throws love and hearts at you*  
> Author: *whispers desperately* Please don't leave...


	33. 31: Mixed feelings and Strange Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: Mentioned child abuse_

_**-November 22, 1991-**_  
Voldemort stared blankly at the book in front of him, his eyes not picking up the words. He continued to struggle to read, and the more the words evaded him, the more he pushed himself to focus. It had been two days since the strange incident in his office, and the only proof that Voldemort had that showed he wasn’t crazy, was the wilted flowers his son had given him, preserved by magic. 

His eyes strayed towards the flowers, their haunting beauty sending shivers down his spine. Despite being wilted, petals crumbling to dust at the slightest touch, the flowers retained their charm, and morbidly, they seemed to be even more beautiful dying than they were alive. 

Voldemort desperately wanted to know who, and _what_ the being that visited him was. He shuddered as he felt the phantom feeling of the being caressing him, nimble fingers tracing his features… The being’s touch was strangely… intimate, almost _loving_. The thought sent another shiver down his spine. 

Voldemort suddenly snapped the book in his hands shut, the loud thud echoing against the walls of his silent study. Voldemort stood, going through the motions of picking out another book to replace the useless one in his hands, all the while, his mind was running in circles. 

The words the being said to him made no sense. How could he have stolen something from it, when Voldemort didn’t even know what _it_ was. And the way the being accused him… it was almost as though Voldemort had stolen something precious from him. 

Voldemort didn’t know anything about this being’s so-called, ‘Master,’ but the way the being had whispered _his soul_ , a phantom breath brushing against his lips----

Voldemort slammed the book in his hands shut once more, a mortified blush spreading across his cheeks. Voldemort forcibly removed those thoughts from his head, refusing to dignify them any longer. How embarrassing! Voldemort was a powerful, immortal Dark Lord, yet here he sat, brooding in his study like some blushing school girl!

With a growl, Voldemort stood and began to comb through his books, his crimson eyes trailing over each spine as he searched for anything that would be even remotely helpful to him. He needed to find out what that being was and what it wanted from him. 

Voldemort refused to bend to the folly of some unknown being, and so, being the powerful Dark Lord that he was, Voldemort was going to discover this being and _conquer_ it. 

The opening of his study door alerted Voldemort to his intruder, but the sound of leaves rustling confirmed the intruder to be his precious child, so Voldemort feigned disinterest and continued his search for a good book. Just as Voldemort had found a book that might be helpful to him (An album titled, _Omens and Deities of Magic_ ), Little One pounced. 

Voldemort let out a dramatic gasp and fell to the floor as Little One crawled onto his chest. “Oh! You’ve got me!” he said, covering his face in the crook of his elbow. “Whatever shall I do?” 

Voldemort’s chest vibrated from Little One’s silent giggles. He felt small hands pat his face gently, and Voldemort allowed himself a small peak to see his son’s smiling face. “Silly Papa.” Little One said softly, lightly tapping his cheek. 

Voldemort felt a burst of affection rise up inside his chest as he watched his child. He had missed seeing Little One this happy, and there wasn’t anything in the world Voldemort would rather do than sit here with his son. 

“What’s ‘dat?” Little One asked softly, pointing at the book Voldemort held in his hands. Suddenly, Voldemort was reminded of the incident that had occurred two days ago. 

“Papa’s researching something right now, precious,” Voldemort answered. “This book might help me.” 

“Can I help?”

Voldemort smiled softly and gently carded his fingers through his son’s inky black hair. “Of course, dearest, why don’t you go find a book for me?”

Little One beamed and set off to complete his task while Voldemort sat back and opened his book. As the sounds of Little One rustling about his study filled the room, Voldemort began to read. 

_It is believed that countless deities reside within Mother Magic’s domain_. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, intrigued. _Where Magic is believed to be the True Power, magic-users throughout the centuries paid their respects to the other forces of nature. They would make sacrifices and rituals that honored the Deity, and in return, strengthened their magic. There are hundreds of deities that were worshipped throughout time, but the most common were that of the Four---_

“Papa! Found book!” Little One’s voice pulled him out of his reading. He looked up from the old album in his hand to see Little One’s smiling face peering up at him. He held out a dusty book, and Voldemort fought back a dismayed grimace when he realized the book his child was touching was very old and very _cursed_. Had Little One been alive, he’d be covered in countless boils and writhing about his floor in agony. 

“I see that precious,” Voldemort said softly, using wandless magic to get the book, _Necromancy and Death Magiks_ , as far away from his child and himself as possible. (Voldemort could’ve sworn he locked that book up in a curse-container.) “You’ve been so helpful!” 

Little One’s smile could put the sun to shame, and Voldemort found himself smiling in return. “Papa play now?” Little One asked, an adorable pout spreading across his face. 

“Sorry dearest, but Papa needs to keep reading,” Voldemort said ruefully. “Why don’t you go and play with Nagini?”

With his son taken care of, Voldemort allowed his crimson gaze to return to his book, picking up where he left off. _There are hundreds of deities that were worshipped throughout time, but the most common were that of the Four: Lady Magic, Lady Fate, Lady Life, and Lord Dea---_

“Papa play!” 

Voldemort withheld a sigh as he looked back towards his child. Little One had his arms crossed and his pout had deepened at Voldemort’s dismissal. Voldemort could see he was one wrong sentence away from a tantrum. 

“Papa wants to play, baby, he really does. But Papa has a lot of work to do. If I play with you right now, then I can’t play with you later,” Voldemort said carefully, hoping to appeal to the toddler. “Don’t you want me to play with you later?”

“No! Papa play _now_!” 

Voldemort took a deep breath, and slowly placed his book down on his chair before he walked over to where his rebellious son stood. “Little One,” he said warningly. “I’m very busy right now. If you let me finish my work, then we can play together. We can go out to the gardens, that sounds like fun, yes?” 

Little One’s bottom lip began to quiver, and Voldemort braced himself for the inevitable tantrum. “P’wease, Papa? We play now?” 

Suddenly, inspiration struck. “Okay darling, I’ll play with you.” 

“Really?” Little One cried, his demeanor shifting from morose and sad to excited and happy in seconds. 

“Yes! But first, Papa needs his little helper. Can you be my little helper?” Voldemort asked. 

“‘M helpful, Papa.” Little One said, pointing at his chest with his thumb. 

“Then can you please go find Nagini and bring her here? Don’t you think she wants to play too?” Voldemort asked, a smirking internally when Little One’s eyes widened comically and began t nod his head. 

“I find Snake-momma!” Little One said before he turned around and raced off, his delicate curls flopping as he ran. 

With that situation solved for the next few minutes, Voldemort returned to his chair and lifted his book. He’d need to come up with a plan once Little One returned with Nagini, but for now, Voldemort wanted to continue his research. 

However, just as his eyes found the line he’d been reading, a sudden feeling overcame him. He felt like he was forgetting something important, but Voldemort couldn’t remember what it was. What was the date, today? 

Suddenly Voldemort’s eyes widened and he jumped up. “It’s election day!” he cried to himself, internally cursing his forgetfulness. If not for that strange incident two days ago, Voldemort would not have forgotten and almost missed the announcing of the new Minister. 

Voldemort quickly left his study, the book he was reading lay forgotten on his chair, as he searched his closet for his robes. Just as he’d finished getting ready, the door to his bedroom opened and in walked the other thing he’d forgotten. 

“Papa? Found Snake-momma!” Little One’s excited voice rang through his room, and Voldemort internally cringed when he saw Little One’s eyes appraise his clothes. “Papa… Papa leaving?” 

Damn.

“Little One, I forgot that I have some very important business at the New Ministry today, so I’m afraid I’m going to be late for our play-date.” Voldemort refused to acknowledge how stupid he sounded using the world, ‘play-date’, in favor of soothing his now devastated child. “Please don’t be upset! I promise I’ll play with you as soon as I come home!” 

“Papa stay!” Little One whined, his fingers clutching the hem of Voldemort’s robes tightly. 

“I’m so sorry dear heart,” Voldemort said, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “I really am.” 

Voldemort could sense another tantrum and his mind raced with plans on how to prevent that. Voldemort suddenly smiled and kneeled in front of Little One. “Papa stay?” Little One asked, his bottom lip wobbling once more, huge crocodile tears swelling up in his eyes. 

“Do you want to have a play-date with Uncle Moony and Uncle Padfoot?” 

Little One paused, blinked, then tilted his head. 

Voldemort smirked. _Checkmate_.

* * *

Severus had no idea what kind of game that pair was playing, but Severus was _not_ amused. After the impromptu apology from Black, Severus did his best to avoid the couple like the bloody plague. Outside of training, (in which they did _not_ talk under any circumstances) Severus stayed as far away from them as possible. 

Yet even when he was avoiding them, Black and Lupin’s strange behavior continued. 

Part of Severus’ punishment was remaining in the Dark Lord’s castle where he could be kept an eye on, and when the pair weren’t spying on the Order, they too were confined to the Castle. Despite his best efforts, Severus continued to bump into the couple at random times in the day. 

Severus did not acknowledge them when it happened, but out of the corner of his eyes, Severus could see Lupin smiling at him and even stranger, Black would smile at him too! It made no sense. If they were trying to get friendly with him in the hopes that they’d rise up in the ranks, their chances were slim to none. 

The other Death Eaters seemed to notice the odd behavior, and though Severus was no longer apart of the Inner Circle, he was still a high ranking Death Eater, so almost no one dared to question it. For that, Severus was grateful. 

That’s not to say no one questioned it, though, as Bellatrix seemed fond of teasing him relentlessly. Severus knew that the Inner Circle was pissed at him for betraying the Dark Lord, so Severus supposed this was Bellatrix’s attempt at punishment. 

Anytime he saw the witch she’d smile at him madly and coo, “How’re Sevvy-kins little puppies?” Severus would just grit his teeth and walk briskly in the other direction. 

He knew it was meant to be a taunt, but Severus couldn’t help but think about how strange it all was. The way they were acting around him was giving Severus serious deja vu, but it wasn’t until later that day when Severus returned to his ‘room’ and was relaxing on his bed, did the thought hit him. 

They were acting as they did all those years ago, back during Hogwarts, when they treated him so strangely for a few months in his sixth year. 

_-February 4, 1975-_

_“Damn them!” Severus hissed to himself, casting a drying charm on his soaked robes. He’d barely managed to escape James Potter from another one of his ‘harmless pranks’, only to end up falling face-first into the Black Lake. To save himself his dignity, Severus opted to hide underwater until he heard Potter and Black laugh and walk away, then, just to be safe, he waited another ten minutes after that._

_By the time Severus ended up getting out of the water, it was dark, and Severus was freezing. His robes, despite the drying charm, stuck to his body, making horrific squelching noises as he walked. Luckily it was ten minutes to curfew, so there weren’t many people around to witness his humiliation._

_Another shiver racked his body, and Severus wound his arms tightly around his waist. Severus could feel the cold seeping into his bones, sucking all the warmth from his body. All Severus wanted to do was curl up in his bed and pretend today never happened._

_Severus looked down at his robes with a regretful sigh, pointedly looking away from the rips at the hem. Severus only had three school robes---one of which was currently being mended by a kind-hearted Hufflepuff after one of James Potter’s pranks tore a hole through the bottom---and Severus couldn’t afford to buy any more. He’d bought these robes second hand as it was, and they were just a size too small for his lanky body, causing them to stretch awkwardly on his thighs and bottom, and of course, the water was only making it worse._

_In short, Severus was miserable._

_He could only hope that his robes weren’t as destroyed as they felt. Severus had no idea what was in the water with him, and he’d been in said water for a long time. Hopefully, the long-lasting charm Severus had applied to it at the start of the term held._

_(There was no way he’d be able to afford another pair, and Severus would sooner die than tell his father he needed money for his school things. ~~Tobias would probably kill Severus would asking, and Severus didn’t appreciate limping around school trying to hide his lashed back~~.)_

_Severus could feel his hair sticking to the side of his face, small beads of water trailing down his face and neck. Severus hadn’t bothered drying his hair, as he intended to shower before he went to sleep anyhow. There really was no telling what was in that lake. As Severus turned the corner that led to the Slytherin dorms, a bead of water landed in his eye, causing Severus to blink rapidly in an attempt to get rid of the unwanted moisture._

_In his disorientation, Severus turned down the wrong corridor. It wasn’t until he looked up to see none other than Sirius Black and Remus Lupin making out against the wall, that he realized how big of a mistake he’d just made._

_Severus was frozen in place, his onyx eyes wide with a mix of awe and horror as he stared at the couple in front of him._

_He’d heard, of course, that the two had become a couple. Severus was forced to listen to Regulus rant about what a disgrace his brother was whenever he was in the common room. Severus had to admit, it was surprising until it wasn’t._

_Looking back, Severus could see the obvious tension between the two. Even when they were making Severus’ life a living hell, they seemed to fall back towards each other. A small part of him was proud of the pair---not that Severus would ever admit it---that they’d managed to cause such a stir of drama within the Pure-Blood circles, that talk of the growing Dark Lord Voldemort was pushed aside for a short time._

_Another small part of Severus was jealous of the pair. Jealous because they had no shame and didn’t care about what everyone else thought of them, obviously. ~~No other reason~~._

_Severus realizes, a second too late, that he’d been standing there for too long._

_Lupin and Black are staring back at him, an indecipherable expression resting on both their faces. Severus can feel his heart pounding against his chest, and every part of him was screaming ‘_ run _’, but Severus’ feet were glued to the ground._

_Suddenly, a smile spread across Lupin’s face. The Gryffindor's face was flushed, and his lips were red and thoroughly abused, shining against the gentle torchlight on the walls. Severus fought to keep his face indifferent at the sight._

_Severus felt his eyes widen slightly when Lupin removed his hand from around Black’s waist and beckoned him forward. Severus watched as his other hand trailed the length of Black’s back, moving lower until it cupped Black’s bottom in an overtly sexual suggestion._

_Severus finally found his feet, and he took one small step backward. Severus felt another bead of water roll down the side of his face and neck, pooling in the divot of his collarbone. Severus, despite wearing too-tight and soaked to the bone robes, felt suddenly naked. He could feel Lupin’s gaze burn holes on his chest._

_Severus shivered---from the cold or the heated stare, Severus didn’t know---and that was when Black made his move._

_Black’s face contorts into a determined glare, and he slips out of his boyfriend’s hold. The leg that had previously been in between Lupin’s was now striding towards Severus with purpose. Severus didn’t want to stick around and find out what Black planned to do with him for interrupting this private moment._

_Severus flinched hard at Black’s movement and Severus finally felt his adrenalin course through him, prompting Severus to do what he should have done the moment he stepped into the hallway._

_Severus turned around and sprinted as fast as could towards the Slytherin dorms. He ignored the calls from behind him as both Lupin and Black cried his name, valuing his life far too much to allow himself to be murdered by Black._

_He made it to the portrait that opened up into the Slytherin dorms just as Black turned the corner, an equally disheveled Lupin following behind him. For one split second, Severus allowed himself to take in the couple._

_Black’s shoulder-length curls were messed up, no doubt from Lupin’s hands, and his shirt collar was unbuttoned slightly, giving Severus a glimpse of his hickey-covered neck and shoulder. Lupin was missing his robe, only wearing the uniform shirt and trousers, and his shirt was untucked, his belt undone. The pair looked thoroughly ravaged._

_Then, that split second was gone._

_Severus whispered the password as fast as he could and tore open the portrait. He caught a glimpse of Black, his eyes widening when he realized that Severus would get away. “Severus---”_

_The portrait slammed shut, cutting off whatever Black had intended to say. Severus heaved, trying to regain the air in his lungs, as the small handful of students in the common room stared at him blankly._

_Adopting his indifferent mask, Severus ran a hand through his damp hair before he walked briskly up the stairs that led to the male dormitory. Severus ignored his dorm mates in favor of walking into the bathroom and starting a shower. Severus stripped of his soaked robes and stepped into the hot spray._

_His body shivered at the drastic change of temperature before he relaxed, the heat easing the aches of his body. Severus carefully washed the gunk off of his body and hair before he stood, relaxing under the water._

_When Severus exited the bathroom, clad in his only pair of pajamas, Regulus was sitting on his bed, his eyebrows raised as he faced Severus._

_“Had a run-in with my idiot brother, did you?” he asked._

_Severus didn’t answer, and he didn’t need to. They both knew the answer to that._

_“Look, I’m sorry about him,” Regulus said softly. “I’m glad you managed to get away. Who knows what Sirius would have done if he caught you.”_

_The image of Lupin staring at him suggestively, lips abused. Black glaring at him with determination, almost_ hungry _. The heated stares he felt against his bottom as he ran away from them, as they_ chased him _. The way Black had called out his name with desperation---_

_“Yeah,” Severus whispered, burying his face in his pillow. “Who knows what would’ve happened.”_

_The next day, Severus told Professor Slughorn he felt ill and spent the rest of the day hiding in his dorm._

Severus lets out a soft sigh as he covered his slightly flushed face with his hands. Severus turned over and let his face rest against the pillow. 

“Why is this happening to me?” he whispered to no one. 

He is answered with silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!!!!!!! (Lol, short hiatus) As you can see, Part Two has officially begun, and I'm so excited for you all to see what's to come! The tags have been updated for Part Two, so go check them out as well! Part One was really the introduction of our characters and their personalities, Part Two will focus on the plot and the slow burn (I mean slooooooow burn) build-up of the relationship tags. 
> 
> Get ready everyone! 
> 
> Shit's about to go down...
> 
> (hehe)
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** A Wolf in sheep's clothing written by hhoneydewdrops  
> This is a fic where Harry ends up adopted by Greyback. It's really really good! Go check it out! :)  
> \-----------------  
> Lucius: I am so honored that you are here to support me during election day, My Lord  
> Voldemort: Yeah... that's what I did  
> Voldemort: I would never forget something like this...


	34. 32: And the Minister is...

_**-November 22, 1991-**_  
Sirius stared at him, his onyx eyes wide open as excitement tore through him. He fought to keep his face neutral, not wanting to do anything that could ruin this opportunity. Voldemort stood in front of him holding a pouting ~~Harry~~ Little One in his arms, the toddler’s body hitched on his waist as he hid his face in the crook of Voldemort’s arms. 

“Did you hear me, Black, or are you deaf?” Voldemort asked, his face contorting into a sneer. 

“Er, yes, My Lord… I mean, no! I mean,” Sirius fumbled. “We would be honored to watch him while you attend your meeting.” 

Sirius could see how amused the Dark Lord was at his stutters, but Sirius reminded himself that any wrong move and Voldemort may never let him or Remus see the child again. “Good.” Voldemort said with a curt nod. He then lightly tugged Little One out of his hiding spot and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. Sirius bit his lip as an ugly feeling of jealousy arose in his chest and he looked away. “Papa has to go now, you have fun. Give _Uncle Padfoot_ some trouble, you hear me?” 

Sirius frowned only to freeze when he heard a nearly inaudible giggle, and Sirius whipped his head around in time to see the toddler beaming. Little One didn’t say anything, but he nuzzled the Dark Lord’s neck before he was put on the ground. Sirius tried not to let his bitterness show when Little One clung to the Dark Lord’s robe rather than walk over to where he stood. 

“Nagini will be monitoring you,” the Dark Lord said suddenly, breaking Sirius from his thoughts. “If you do anything untoward, I will find out about it. Nagini is under strict orders to _bite first_. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Sirius said in a forced tone. 

The Dark Lord eyed him for another minute before he gave a curt nod, a fleeting glance towards Little One, and then walked away in a dignified fashion. Sirius wanted to snort, but a part of him was convinced the man would hear him. Sirius breathed in deeply before he let it out, bending down on one knee so that he could look at his godson. 

(And he was _his_ godson. Dark Lord’s be damned, Sirius was Little One’s godfather and there was nothing he could do about it!)

“Hello Little One,” Sirius says softly, watching for any sign of excitement on the Inferius’ face. “Do you remember me?”

Little One nods shyly, and his emerald eyes flicker back and forth around the room, almost as if they were searching for something. Sirius bit back a sigh when he realized what the toddler was looking for. _Who_ the toddler was looking for. 

“I’m sure Nagini will be here soon, Little One,” Sirius said, struggling to hide his disappointment when he realized just how uncomfortable Little One seemed to be in his presence. “In the meantime, do you want to help me find Uncle Moony?” 

Little One nodded, and Sirius allowed himself a small victorious smile. Sirius stood, offering his hand down towards Little One. Little One debated for a few seconds before he accepted, and Sirius relished the warm weight in his hand. Sirius happily led the Inferius through the castle halls in a search for his partner. 

“I’m really glad we get to hang out together,” Sirius said as they walked. “I really missed you.” 

The toddler was silent, but Sirius wasn’t expecting a response. From what he had learned about him, Little One was silent most of the time, save for a few special occasions. Sirius could only hope that one day Little One will be comfortable enough around him to speak. Little One trailed silently behind him, the only noise coming from the pair were their footsteps echoing off the walls. 

Just as Sirius turned the corner, a green blob struck out at him from in front. Sirius reared back, instinctually moving to protect Little One, only to freeze as the blob gave a warning hiss. With his heart in his throat, Sirius looked down to see the Dark Lord’s giant snake hissing at him. 

Sirius didn’t know what the snake was saying, but Little One did. Sirius struggled to maintain his air of indifference as his godson began to speak to the snake. It was so strange to see James’ son speaking parseltongue, there was something so fundamentally wrong with that picture. It put him on edge. Sirius stood there watching the conversation unfold, unsure of how he was supposed to respond to it. 

Finally, the snake stopped hissing and turned to face him. Sirius stiffened when the snake grew closer, only to breathe out a sigh of relief when the snake gestured for him to continue walking. With the added chaperone, Sirius and Little One---who was still hissing at the snake---set off once more to find Remus. 

They found him sitting in the first-floor library sitting in a plush armchair reading a book. Sirius grinned at the sight of his lover and he silently crept up to where the werewolf sat. Just as he was about to scare him, however, Remus turned to level him with a deadpan stare. 

“Hello, Sirius.” Remus said. Sirius pouted at the man and let out a soft huff.

“You always ruin my fun, Moony.” Sirius whined. Remus only chuckled softly. “We’re currently on babysitting duty, though. So get off your furry butt and come with me.” 

“Babysitting duty?” Remus asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion, only for his gaze to travel past him and land on Little One. Remus let out a stilted gasp and shot up from his position on the chair. “He’s letting us…?”

“Well, we have a chaperone,” Sirius muttered, subtly gesturing to the giant snake that was currently wrapping his godson up in her coils. Remus’ only gave a slight twitch at the sight. “But other than that, yeah, he is.” 

“Finally.” Remus said softly. He placed the book he was reading on the sand next to him and got up. “Hello, Little One! It’s so good to see you again!” 

Little One looked up briefly at the sound of his name, but other than that, he did not respond. Remus looked slightly put out at the dismissal, but Sirius slipped his hand into Remus’ and squeezed it comfortingly. 

“It’s going to take time, Remi,” Sirius said softly. “But we can do this.” 

Remus nodded. “Shall we, then?”

“Little One, do you want to head to the gardens?” Sirius asked, remembering how much the toddler loved plants. Little One perked up slightly at the mention of gardens so Sirius took it as a yes. “Alright then! Let’s go!” 

The trio (plus a snake), walked through the castle until they reached the gardens. Sirius blinked rapidly when he stepped outside to adjust to the brightness, and when his eyes adjusted, he whistled at the beautiful sight before him. 

The Dark Lord’s gardens were massive and gorgeous. Flower plots decorated the area as far as the eye could see, and each one was bursting full of vibrant colors and designs, making each plot a masterful piece of artwork. 

While Sirius had been distracted, Little One had plopped down on the ground by one of the flower plots and began to absently play with Nagini’s scales. Remus was sitting next to the toddler, but every time he attempted to get closer, Nagini would hiss at him.

Sirius sighed. “Little One!” he called, gaining the attention of said toddler. “Do you want to play a game?” 

Little One tilted his head and Sirius continued. 

“If you go and pick a bunch of flowers, then we can have a contest to see who can make the prettiest flower crown. What do you think? Do you want to play?” Sirius asked. He wasn’t sure if this would work, but Sirius was at a loss of what to do. He wanted to connect with his godson, he just wasn’t sure how to do it. 

Little One seemed to like the idea, however, as he put two hands in front of him to push himself off the ground before he ran off towards the flowers. Making sure to keep an eye on the toddler in case he fell, Sirius sank to the ground, ignoring the morning dew that was currently soaking the bottom of his trousers. 

“I wonder why he decided to let us watch him today,” Remus mused from beside him. Sirius hummed in thought, his eyes not leaving Little One’s tiny form as he collected handfuls of flowers. “I mean, why now? We haven’t really done anything.” 

“Who knows what that man is thinking,” Sirius muttered softly. “I could serve him for a lifetime, and I’d never know what went on in his head.” 

“That’s true.” Remus said softly. They sat there, and Sirius relished the domesticity of the scene. He was sitting outside, his partner next to him surrounded by flowers as their godson gathered flowers. It was incredible. If it weren’t for the giant snake slithering behind Little One, Sirius could imagine that they were back home together, as a family. 

Sirius smiled when Little One came tottling over to them, weighed down by bushels of flowers that nearly covered him. “Hey, Little One! I see you got us an incredible selection of flowers!” Sirius said happily. Little One smiled nervously at him, and though it wasn’t as carefree as Sirius would have hoped, it was a sign that they were getting closer. Regardless, Sirius would take the win. “Okay, now, I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to go easy on me, yeah?” 

Little One nodded at him, and Sirius let out a chuckle. Beside him, Remus took a couple of daisies and began stringing them together. “You’d better get started!” he exclaimed. “Or I’ll beat you both!”

Little One let out a startled gasp and quickly reached for a couple of the flowers and began to braid them together. Sirius watched them for a moment, trying to figure out how to do it. He may have bitten off more than he could chew, starting a flower crown contest, especially since he didn’t know how to make one, but he desperately wanted to connect with his godson and this was the only way he could think of. 

Sirius decided to make one as basic as possible. Taking a daisy, Sirius carefully put a hole through the stem and slipped a dandelion through the hole. Probably not the most reliable method, but it seemed to work just fine. 

For a little while, anyway. 

It wasn’t until he was trying to connect his end flower to his starting flower that he realized the problem. How was he supposed to connect the two and make it into a crown if there was no hole to connect them together? Sirius stared at the stems for a second before he decided he’d have to tie it together. As carefully as he could, Sirius tied the last stem around the head of the first flower. 

Sirius held up the first flower crown he’d ever made with a victorious smile, only to have the entire thing break apart and fall to the ground. 

Remus let out a shuddering chuckle at the sight of Sirius staring forlornly at his fallen flower crown. “Better luck next time, Siri!” he said. “Little One and I are almost finished with our crowns, isn’t that right Little One?” 

Little One grinned and held up his intricate braided flower crown full of different flowers. Sirius stared at the thing in amazement. How did the four year old manage to make something so beautiful? Sirius reached forward to touch the crown only to flinch back when Nagini hissed at him, her head coming to stand protectively between the two. 

Sirius sighed and returned to his place beside Remus, his mood dampened. For a moment he’d almost forgotten about the chaperone and allowed himself to believe that he was just spending time with his family. With the stark reminded of reality literally hissing at him in the face, Sirius fought to maintain his earlier happiness. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius caught a shadow flash past him. Sirius turned his head just in time to see Snape watching them from a window. The second their eyes met, Snape turned around and left. Sirius turned around to face his broken flower crown resting on the ground by his feet. 

How accurate it was, he thought glumly, for his chain to fall apart just like everything else in his life was. He couldn’t get close to his godson because a possessive Dark Lord stood in his way, and the person that was training them to survive had been avoiding them for the past two days. 

Ever since the impromptu apology in the training room, the dour potions master had refused to meet with them. Sirius, strangely enough, wanted to make amends for what he’d done. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that he was going to be seeing a lot of Snape now, and he had enough problems in his life without adding petty childhood grudges. 

With a sigh, Sirius lifted a new daisy from the pile and began to remake his flower crown. 

It was going to be a lot harder than Sirius thought, getting close to the people he wanted to.

* * *

Voldemort arrived in the meeting hall just in time to see the final ballots being counted. Voldemort knew he would be expected to announce the identity of the Minister, so he strode over to the counting station. 

“M-My Lord!” one of the workers said, his eyes widening at the sight of Voldemort. “Welcome! W-We just finished the counting!” 

“And who won?” Voldemort asked, raising an eyebrow. 

The worker wrote down the name of the new minister on a sheet of paper and handed it to him. Voldemort, taking a second to ensure his occlumency shields were strong, looked at the name. He forced himself to remain neutral, not allowing any emotion to show on his face nor in his magic. 

Voldemort nodded at the worker before he turned around, his hand clenched around the piece of paper. Plans began to formulate in his head as he walked towards the front of the building where a podium was set up for him. Voldemort could hear the murmurs of the crowd from here, and when Voldemort stepped through the glass doors, he was assaulted by the noise of hundreds of people crammed into the square, eagerly awaiting the news. 

As Voldemort took his place, his eyes sought out Lucius. The man was standing next to Dumbledore, as they were both the candidates. His face was neutral, the iconic Malfoy aloofness masking the man’s anticipations. When Lucius met his gaze, Voldemort pointedly looked at Dumbledore. 

Voldemort then turned to face the crowd, and he allowed a smile to grace his face as he greeted them. “Hello, fellow wizards and witches. Thank you all for coming to the naming of our newest Minister.” Voldemort said cordially. “I must say, it’s been an interesting race, and the results even more so.” 

It was silent in the crowd now, every person eager to hear the name. 

“With the naming of our Minister, we enter a new moment in history,” Voldemort continued. “Let us come together and celebrate our new Minister…” 

Voldemort paused for effect, watching as the people leaned forward expectantly. Voldemort allowed a victorious smile to flash on his face. 

“Lucius Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Lucius is the Minister! Did anyone see that coming? 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** A.I.s and Lullabies written by Echo  
> This is a lovely little marvel fic where Tony is de-aged and the team has to deal with the realization that Howard is not who they thought he was. Go check it out!!!  
> \--------------  
> Lucius: Oh thank god, I get to live  
> Lucius: *rebooting cuz he realized he's a minister now*  
> Lucius: *tiny, girlish squeak*  
> Voldemort: I think there's a mouse in here


	35. 33:The Schemes of an Old Man

**_-November 23, 1991-_**  
To be honest, Albus never expected to become Minister. The idea, while incredible, was so preposterous, that Albus never even considered it. The whole point of entering the race against Lord Malfoy was not to beat him, but rather to get closer to Voldemort. 

And in turn, closer to Harry Potter. 

Albus knew that in order to save his fellow wizards from Voldemort’s reign, Albus needed to save Harry Potter from him first. Despite the strange occurrence in the Hall of Prophecies, Albus knew that the prophecy was still in effect. It _had_ to be. 

Albus was shocked when Voldemort seemed genuinely surprised about the prophecy. Albus had assumed that Voldemort was keeping little Harry Potter around simply because he was the prophecy child, but Voldemort didn’t react the way Albus thought he would when the prophecy was brought up. He was, dare Albus say it, afraid. (Which seemed ridiculous because Voldemort only feared one thing) Yet, when Albus mentioned Harry Potter, Voldemort’s entire demeanor shifted. 

It reminded him of that day in Stonehenge, when Albus’ perspective of Voldemort finally shifted from Tom Riddle, the young child he’d taught, to the Dark Lord Voldemort, an immortal lord whose power rivals his own. 

Voldemort was unhealthily possessive of the child---so much so, that Albus feared Harry Potter was nothing more than a possession to him. Albus didn’t know how valuable the child was to Voldemort until he’d been taken, and that was before Albus knew the identity of the Inferius. Once Albus knew it was Harry Potter, he’d changed his plans accordingly. With the child of the prophecy at his disposal, Voldemort’s downfall was imminent. 

But Albus wasn’t prepared for the lengths Voldemort would go to get the child back. When Albus was forced to return Harry Potter to him, he had to change his plans once more. 

No matter what, Harry Potter was the child of the prophecy, and it was too dangerous for him to remain with Voldemort. 

Hence the plan to run for Minister. It was pure luck that Albus was able to speak with Voldemort about the prophecy while the speeches were being given. But Voldemort didn’t respond the way Albus assumed. Instead of the casual indifference that Voldemort portrayed with enemies, at the mention of Harry Potter, Voldemort turned manic and enraged. 

And then the prophecy orb shattered and Albus had to change his plans. Again. 

No matter, though, because everything was finally going according to his plan. 

(Finally.)

With Lucius Malfoy as Minister, Voldemort would feel secure. No doubt, the Dark Lord would assume that Albus was intending to become minister and thus, Voldemort would drop his guard while he waited for Albus to create a new plan. Whilst Voldemort’s defenses were lowered, Albus would send in his trump card to collect Harry Potter and return him to the Light. 

Currently, Albus sat in his chair, reclining peacefully as he thought. Beside him, Fawkes trilled happily, and Albus felt his spirits lift at the wondrous song. 

Yes, the plan was simple and that’s why it would work so perfectly. 

All he had to do now was wait for the perfect moment to strike.

* * *

Voldemort breathed in deeply, his eyes closed as he tilted his head back to bask in the warm sun, the fresh air smelling crisp and sweet. It was nice to have a day to relax, especially after yesterday. Now that Lucius was Minister, his plans would need to be adjusted. However, that could wait until tomorrow. Today was for his son. 

Speaking of… 

Voldemort opened one eye to see Little One standing on his tip-toes, his little arm outstretched as he struggled to pick an apple hanging low on the tree. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Voldemort smiled fondly at his child and walked over to him and gently plucked the apple from the tree, placing it in his son’s hand. 

Little One beamed at him and took a bite out of it. Voldemort fought back a wince, forcibly reminding himself that Little One wasn’t technically alive, so any germs that were on that apple wouldn’t transfer. Still, it bothered him. 

“Here precious,” Voldemort said, holding out his hand for the apple. Little One looked at him in confusion for a second before he placed the red fruit on his palm. Voldemort quickly whispered a cleaning charm before he handed it back to the Inferius. “There you are. Tell me, does it taste good?”

In response, Little One thrust the gummy apple into his face. Voldemort reared back, trying to avoid the slobber covered apple, but it was too late. Voldemort wiped the spit off his cheek and mimed the action of taking a bite. His face lit up in joy and nodded. “Oh yes, very delicious dear heart,” Voldemort said, handing the apple back. As much as he loved his son, Voldemort didn’t appreciate the idea of eating a fruit covered in his spit. “Thank you.” 

Little One smiled at him once more and continued to eat the apple. Voldemort slowly eased himself onto the ground and leaned back against the apple tree. Voldemort sat there, silently enjoying his son’s company as the leaves rustled against the wind. 

When Little One finished his apple he stood and waved at Voldemort before he ran off towards a flower plot a few feet ahead of them. Voldemort sighed fondly, vanishing the apple core that lay forgotten in the grass. 

Voldemort watched from the shade as Little One collected handfuls of flowers and began braiding them into a flower chain. From the corner of his eye, Voldemort sees Nagini slithering towards them. 

“ _Nagini_ ,” Voldemort hisses, calling the giant snake’s attention. “ _Tell me. How did they behave in my absence?_ ”

Nagini coiled herself near Voldemort, letting most of her body rest in the direct sunlight. “ _They made flower crownsss Massster_ ,” Nagini said, no explanation needed for her to understand what he was speaking of. “ _I did not need to bite. Ssshame. I wanted to bite._ ” 

Voldemort chuckled. “ _Good. I sssuppossse I won’t punisssh them. Thisss time._ ” 

“ _Sssnake-Momma!_ ” Little One hissed, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper with excitement. Little One hefted the foot-long chain of flowers into his arms as he skipped over to where the pair sat. 

“ _Hatchling!_ ” Nagini hissed, lifting her head from the grass so that Little One could begin wrapping the flower chain around her. 

“ _Play with me?_ ” Little One asked, winding the chain of flowers down her back. 

“Stay where I can see you.” Voldemort reminded the toddler. The last thing Voldemort wanted was for the Inferius to wander off. He wouldn’t get lost, but after everything that had happened recently, Voldemort was wary to let Little One be by himself. 

Little One nodded and together, he and Nagini moved over towards the flower beds. From his position under the apple tree, Voldemort could see Little One shifting through the flower bed (Voldemort refused to think about the state of his clothes), with Nagini following close behind him. 

Satisfied that Little One was safe for the moment, Voldemort summoned the book that he had been reading yesterday. With _Omens and Deities of Magic_ in hand, Voldemort relaxed against the rough bark of the apple tree behind him and opened the book. 

Voldemort began flipping through the pages before he found the page he’d been reading just before he’d been interrupted. 

_It is believed that countless deities reside within Mother Magic’s domain. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Where Magic is believed to be the True Power, magic-users throughout the centuries paid their respects to the other forces of nature. They would make sacrifices and rituals that honored the Deity, and in return, strengthened their magic. There are hundreds of deities that were worshipped throughout time, but the most common were that of the Four: Lady Magic, Lady Fate, Lady Life, and Lord Death._

_Lady Magic is known as the avatar of magic. She is often referred to as Mother Magic’s daughter, for she acts as the bridge between Mother Magic and Wizard Kind. Without Lady Magic, the magicks of the Mother would never reach us. She is at her most powerful during the Summer Solstice, while the after-effects of Lady Life is still present._

_Lady Fate is the most mysterious deity, and arguably the most powerful. All descriptions of her compare her to that of an old woman playing chess. She enters the mortal realm during every Winter Solstice for the Tying of the Threads, a ritual performed yearly to cement Lady Fate’s path for every magical being._

_Lady Life is the warmest deity, often appearing in rituals and summonings. Her appearance is described as a young teen girl who provides miracles when summoned. She is at her most powerful during the Spring Equinox, where she provides life to the planet._

_Lord Death is the most powerful deity, as he draws his power from death as well as controls the death of every living thing. He is known as the prankster of the Four, and often slips into the mortal realm and pretends to be mortal for a short period of time. He is also the only deity with a Master---_

Voldemort looked up when he heard a sharp gasp. His eyes instantly find Little One who is standing frozen at the edge of a pond. Voldemort tosses the book to the ground in his haste to get to his child. Was Little One about to fall into the pond?

“Precious? What is it?” Voldemort asked, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. 

“Papa! Papa look!” Little One whispers, his emerald eyes bright with excitement as he points at his feet. 

Voldemort follows the direction with his eyes to see a duckling resting at his feet. It is very young, clearly just hatched. No more than a day old at best. Voldemort narrows his eyes when he sees the duckling has a cleft palate and that one of his feet is slightly shorter than the other. There is no sign of the duckling’s mother or siblings. 

“The mother must have abandoned it,” Voldemort says softly. “The thing couldn’t keep up with the group.”

Little One let out a horrified gasp. “He all alone?” Little One asked, his eyes wide. 

“Yes, dear,” Voldemort said. “He’ll probably die in a few days without his mother to care for him.” 

Little One’s eyes widened further for a moment before they set in a determined stare. Voldemort felt his stomach drop at the sight. _Oh no…_

Little One bent down and gently cradled the duckling into his arms, one finger coming up to gently stroke the soft yellow feathers. _Oh no…_

Little One held the duckling up to his face and began to lightly nuzzle the duckling, who, in turn, began to chirp softly and nuzzle back. _Oh no…_

“Little One…” Voldemort started slowly. “He’s… he’s dirty. Sweetheart…” 

“We keep him.” Little One said, his emerald eyes traveling from the swaddled duckling to Voldemort’s face. 

_Son of a bitch._

“Darling,” Voldemort said carefully, wracking his brain as he tried to come up with a reason why they couldn’t keep the mangy thing. “He’s very dirty. He wasn’t developed properly. It’s best to just put him out of his misery---”

“No! No! No!” Little One cried vehemently, shaking his head violently as he stepped away from Voldemort, clutching the little duckling closer. “We keep him!”

“Little One.” Voldemort said firmly. “We are _not_ keeping that thing. Now, put it down.”

Little One stared at him, and Voldemort watched with bated breath to see it Little One would listen to him. Just as he could see Little One’s resolve crumbling, the duckling chirped again and nuzzled Little One’s hand. _Damn_. Little One’s eyes hardened. 

“No. We keep him.” 

“Little One, please, put him down. We can’t keep a duck in the castle---”

“Papa! No!” Little One whined, and Voldemort felt his chest clench at the sight of tears welling up in his precious’ eyes. Giant tears began to sluggishly trail down Little One’s reddening cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed into a mean glare. “He… He… per’fect! He not… He not bad…” 

Voldemort sighed. “You’re right, the ducking is not _bad_. He just didn’t come out right, is all.” Voldemort placated. “And who knows, maybe the mother will come back for him?” Not likely. “So why don’t you just put him down so that his mom can find him, yes?”

Little One shook his head and Voldemort watched with wide eyes as his docile child began to throw a tantrum. Ugly sobs escaped his lips as snot began to pour out of his nose. Little One stomped his foot against the ground, splashing mud onto his shoes and the hem of Voldemort’s robes. 

“Papa… Papa no…” Little One sobbed. “We keep him!”

Voldemort breathed in deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

_Do not give in._

“Little One…”

“We keep him! Papa!”

_You can’t have a duck in the castle. Do not give in._

“Little One put that thing down.”

“No! P’wease! Papa we keep him!”

_Do not give in._

“Papa…”

_Son of a bitch._

“Fine.” Voldemort said softly, blowing out a harsh breath of air. “You can keep the thing.”

Like a switch that had been turned off, the tears instantly stopped, and in its place, a giant smile. “Thank ‘oo, Papa.” Little One said happily, pressing tiny kisses all over the muddy duckling. Voldemort cringed at the sight of mud and snot mixing together to form a horrendous crust all over his son’s---and the duckling’s---face. 

“Of course dearest,” Voldemort said. “Anything for you.” 

And it was true. Voldemort knew he would have a lot of work to do, but hopefully, Little One would tire of the duckling after a few days, and Voldemort would be able to get rid of it. The duckling would have to stay in Little One’s room---good thing there was a pond in his room already. 

With that problem solved, Voldemort decided it was time to go back inside and give his rebellious child a bath. (Somehow, Voldemort knew that the new duckling would join him) At his side, Nagini hissed complaints about the duckling that would be joining them. 

Maybe, after Little One grew tired of the duckling, Nagini would appreciate the snack. 

“Come Little One,” Voldemort said, gesturing for his child to follow him. “I think it’s time for a bath.”

Little One nodded and skipped over to him. Little One cooed over the duckling as they walked, and Voldemort very pointedly looked away from his son’s dirty clothes. 

“What will you name the duckling, dear heart?” Voldemort asked. 

Little One was silent for a moment as he thought before he said cheerfully, “Larry!”

Voldemort sighed, resisting the urge to smack his forehead. 

“Of course it is.”

* * *

He walked through the forest calmly, letting the light of the crescent moon guide him. Under the pale light, the trees and shrubbery stood out in a tinted green, adding to the eerie feeling. He paid no mind to the crunching leaves and twigs that snapped beneath his bare feet. 

In the distance, a black castle stood out against the horizon. 

He smirks, amber eyes flashing in the dark. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Wonder what I’ve missed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Larry the Duck has arrived. I repeat: LARRY THE DUCK HAS ARRIVED
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground written by Night Flame Miko on Fanfiction.net  
> This is a funny tomarry where Harry sends letters to Voldemort out of sheer boredom. It's great, go check it out!!!  
> \-----------------  
> Voldemort: Darling, you have to put Larry down   
> Little One: *holds Larry tighter*  
> Voldemort: You can't hold a duckling while you eat oatmeal!  
> Little One: *slowly holds the spoon of oatmeal to Larry's bill*  
> Voldemort:


	36. 34: An Intruder

_**-November 24, 1991-**_  
After a long day spent playing with his son, wrestling said child into a bath (with a new duckling as well), and then reading two bedtime stories---one for Little One and one for Larry---Voldemort was perfectly content to slip into his bed and fall asleep. His bed was plush and soft, and Voldemort’s head sunk into his pillow and relax. 

Voldemort didn’t dream often. He didn’t know why, but dreams didn’t happen to him, and if they did, it was just a short burst of colors. He’d never had a vivid dream before, which was why he knew instantly that he wasn’t dreaming. 

He was standing in the same blank emptiness as before, and Voldemort whirled around, his eyes widening as he recognized the vast barrenness. His breath misted in front of his face, each puff of air turning into white clouds that danced around his head before disappearing. Voldemort narrows his eyes at the mist before his entire body stiffens. 

Just like before, Voldemort can feel it. The strange presence. He can feel the tension rise the longer the silence continues. He snaps his head to the left where he feels the presence and snarls when he sees nothing but the continued emptiness. 

“Show yourself!” Voldemort demands. “Who are you! Why am I here?”

Voldemort rears back in shock, however, when the emptiness changes. Shadows that spawned from nowhere seemed to be bleeding out of the edges of the nothingness. The shadows quivered and trembled as they twisted together into a humanoid figure. Voldemort hadn’t expected his demand to work, as it didn’t work last time. 

The humanoid figure wears a muggle three-piece suit, the suit jacket unbuttoned. Voldemort sniffs at the formal muggle wear, mildly offended that a clearly magical being would wear something so undignified. The shadows blended into the figure, making him fuzzy and hard to see---his face completely blurred out. Despite this, Voldemort can clearly see the smile that stretches across the being’s face. 

“Who are you?” Voldemort demands, his eyes narrowed as they tried to make out the figure’s features. “What is this place? Why have you brought me here?” 

“ **My, my, so many questions**.” it says, and Voldemort bristles at the condescending tone. How dare this… this _thing_ speak to him that way?

“Do you know who I am?” Voldemort drawls, raising an eyebrow at the being. His tone doesn’t even begin to hide how irritated he is. This is the second time this being has abducted him and forced him into this strange realm. “How dare---” 

“ **My Dear Sister prizes you** ,” the being spoke, stopping Voldemort mid-rant. (Which only furthered Voldemort’s rage.) “ **I haven’t the faintest as to why, you're arrogant and rude. You have this air of self-importance that is truly unflattering…** ” Voldemort snarled at the faceless being in front of him, his fingers inching towards his non-existent wand with the desire to curse the thing into oblivion. “ **But hearing you speak, the confidence you exude that matches your truly… _delicious_ magical power… Seeing your eyes light up with fury, truly that is a masterpiece… Seeing _you_**.” 

The faceless being eyed him up and down and for some reason, Voldemort felt the faintest hint of bashfulness. Never before had Voldemort felt so exposed, the being’s strange reaction to him making Voldemort feel almost shy---

“What are you?” Voldemort said flatly, forcibly rejecting his earlier thoughts. He was above such pathetic feelings, and he refused to show this being how it affected him. “What do you want with me?” 

“ **I am beginning to see why she believes you to be one of her best creations**.” the being continued, ignoring the questions Voldemort had just demanded of it. Despite not having any eyes, Voldemort could practically feel the way the being leered at him. Voldemort had never felt so… uneasy before. He struggled to maintain his indifferent mask, but judging from the being’s amused face, his discomfort was noticed. “ **No need to be so uneasy, I won’t hurt you**.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, a deadpanned remark escaping his lips. “Really?” 

“ **Quite. Something about you… something about you just draws me in. I haven’t felt like this before, and I’m curious to see where it goes**.” 

Voldemort frowns at it, mildly confused at the strange wording. “Where _what_ goes?” 

The being chuckled, a strange raspy noise. His voice echoed like that of thousands of voices overlapping, and the chuckle sounded eerie and broken against the blank nothingness. “ **I’m not quite sure**.” 

“Well thank you,” Voldemort said sarcastically. “This has been incredibly helpful.” 

The being let out a full-blown laugh this time, the sound just as grating as the first time, and Voldemort felt so disoriented at the overlapping voices---female and male---echoing all around the vast nothingness that he stood in. “ **I suppose it wasn’t for you, but for me… This has been incredibly enlightening**.”

Voldemort would have huffed, but he refused to appear undignified in front of this thing. “Well please, enlighten me. We can’t all be nameless, faceless _things_.” 

“ **You wound me, my dear, truly you do** ,” the thing purred, and Voldemort could practically feel the being’s amusement. “ **Does it bother you? Not being able to see me? Not being able to see me the way I _see_ you**?” 

Voldemort bristled. “You might see me, but you don’t know me.” 

“ **I’m afraid that’s true** ,” the being mused. “ **It is something I intend to change**.”

“You are acting differently,” Voldemort said, choosing to ignore the being’s previous words. The being said nothing about Voldemort’s sudden change in topic. “Last time we spoke you were rather accusatory.” 

“ **Did I hurt your feelings, my dear? My deepest apologies**.” 

“I was not _hurt_!” Voldemort snapped, finally losing his composure. “I was simply asking you what changed!” 

“ **I had a very interesting conversation with my Dear Sister** ,” the being said after a beat of silence. “ **It has cleared up quite a bit**.” 

“I see.” Voldemort said slowly, his crimson eyes flickering up and down as they struggled to focus on the hazy figure. The fuzziness of the being was beginning to give him a headache. “Would you care to answer my questions, then?”

“ **That would ruin all my fun** ,” the being said, a dangerously playful tone bleeding into his words. “ **And we can’t have that, can we, my dear**?”

Voldemort stood in silence then, unsure of how to continue. The being finally broke it by coming closer. Suddenly, the fuzzy being morphed into a shape that Voldemort could perceive. His eyes widened at the handsome man that stood before him, with black hair that seemed to fade into nothingness as his shoulders and eyes that seemed to glow like that of the killing curse. “ **Until you dream again, my Dear Immortal Lord**.” the being said, his voice no longer overlapped, before pressing a kiss to his temple. It then paused for a moment before saying with a crooked grin, " **Or perhaps I may visit you sooner.** "

Voldemort woke with a start in his bedroom, his eyes looking around for a sign of the being and found none. 

“What… the actual _hell_ was that?”

* * *

Little One went to sleep feeling super happy. 

Papa let him keep Larry and Larry was Little One’s new best friend! Snake-Momma and Larry didn’t get along yet, but Little One knew that after they got used to each other, Snake-Momma would be happy to play knights with Larry and him all the time! 

Little One and Larry played during bath time, and Little One was happy to introduce Larry to his rubber ducky. Larry and Sir Squeaky (that was the name of his rubber ducky) played battle with Little One as they fought to sink all of Little One’s toy boats. Even Papa joined in on the fun---though, he had a funny expression on his face when Larry jumped on his head, so maybe Papa was feeling a little sick. 

After bath time, Papa read Little One his favorite bedtime story (the story of how Papa saved the world!). Papa was just about to give Little One his good night kiss when Little One reminded Papa that Larry needed a bedtime story too! Silly Papa, always forgetting about Larry. Little One knew it was because Larry was new, and once Papa got used to Larry, he wouldn’t forget about him anymore. 

Papa read Larry a bedtime story too, and Little One had to remind Papa that Larry needed _his_ good night kiss, or the duckling might not be able to fall asleep. Papa’s face did that funny thing again like it did during bath time, but he gave Larry his good night kiss anyway. Then Papa checked under the bed for monsters before Papa said night-night. 

Little One cuddled up to Larry, the duckling nuzzling against Little One’s face, and Little One closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sounds of the breeze rustling the leaves of his oak tree, and the comforting weight of Larry resting on his shoulder. 

Yes, Little One fell asleep feeling happy.

But Little One awoke to the overwhelming feeling of _wrongness_. 

His eyes snapped open, and Little One could feel it in the air: something wasn’t right. His eyes traveled through his room, searching for whatever was making Little One feel so uneasy, but he saw nothing. At this point, Little One knew that something wasn’t right, and he knew that the only person who could fix it was Papa.

Little One slowly began to crawl out of his bed, making sure that Larry slept peacefully in his blankets. When Larry was covered in blankets and sufficiently protected from the wrongness, Little One began walking to the door. 

The warm grass tickled his bare feet as he walked, but Little One didn’t have time to play with the grass, didn’t have time to bury his toes in the dirt and pretend they were missing. Little One needed to find Papa and have him fix the wrongness. 

The door creaked as Little One pushed it open, his eyes wide as they scoured the hallway. Little One cautiously stepped out of the safety of his bedroom, but just as he was about to open the door to Papa’s room, a shadowy figure opened the door for him and stepped out. Little One froze where he stood, his emerald eyes widening further as they stared at the shadowy figure standing by the door to Papa’s room. 

The shadowy figure must’ve seen him, as the figure started making it’s way towards Little One. Little One is frozen in place as the figure approaches him. Before Little One can start to get really scared, a strong sense of familiarity washes over him. 

It’s impossible, but Little One feels like he knows this shadowy figure from somewhere. 

The figure leans down and Little One feels a phantom kiss being placed on his forehead, right where Papa gave him his good night kiss earlier. Little One feels warm and soft inside his tummy when the figure kisses him, like the shadowy figure is safe. 

Then, without saying a word, the shadowy figure turns and begins to walk down the hall. Little One lets out a soft whine when he realizes the figure is leaving him and he starts to follow after the figure, completely forgetting about the reason why he was awake in the first place. 

Completely forgetting about the wrongness. 

Little One follows after the figure, his bare feet slapping against the hard floors of the castle. Little One tries to catch up with the figure, who seems to be farther and farther away, but he just can’t keep up with him. Little One follows the shadowy figure all throughout the castle until he can’t see it anymore. 

Little One is in the common room, spinning around in circles searching for the figure when he bumps into a strong and sturdy leg. 

Little One freezes and slowly turns around to see a dark figure staring at him. Little One knows it isn’t the shadowy figure from before because he doesn’t feel safe anymore. Instead of the warm happy feeling in his tummy, Little One feels dread pool in the bottom of his chest, and the overwhelming feeling of wrongness returns tenfold. 

The man grins, and Little One whimpers as the fangs reflect off the moonlight filtering in through the windows. This man is scary and Little One is afraid. 

Little One wants his Papa. 

A tiny, fearful whimper escapes his lips as the scary man leans forward and lifts him by the back of his shirt. Little One can feel the fear buildup in his chest, and his hands start to tremble, the image of the scary man blurring as his eyes fill with tears. Is the scary man going to hurt him like the bad man? Is the scary man going to hurt him like Uncle Vernon? 

Papa! Little One needs Papa! Papa will make it all better and protect him from the scary man!

Little One begins to wriggle in earnest, trying but failing to escape the scary man’s grip. The scary man lets out a warning growl that freezes Little One in place. Little One closes his eyes as he prepares for the pain he felt when the bad man and Uncle Vernon hurt him. 

“You have one second to put him down before I _crucio_ you to insanity.” a cold voice cuts across the tense silence. 

Little One lets out a relieved gasp at the familiar voice of his Papa. Papa! Papa is here to save Little One from the scary man! Suddenly, the dark castle is bright with lights, and Little One is able to see the figure holding him clearly. He is tall with long black hair and a scruffy beard. His piercing blue eyes widen at the figure behind him and he smirks. 

“‘Ello, My Lord.” the figure says. 

Papa lets out a tired sigh. “Hello, Greyback.” 

**MORE BEAUTIFUL FAN ART!!!! (you guys are spoiling me : >) Credit to Royal_rose2020 on Wattpad for this art**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!! Death being a creepy creeper. (The tag, 'Death is a little shit' was seriously _not_ a joke.)  
> I know I said this was finna be a slow burn---and it will!---but this also going to be a, 'Holy shit that escalated quickly' kind of a deal too... 
> 
> It's fine. This is going to be fun. 
> 
> ;)
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Delphini Riddle written by Anonymous  
> You guys, words cannot describe how much I love this fic. It just came out, but it updates regularly and I've called in love with the concept! Delphini Riddle decides that Bellatrix Black _cannot_ be her mother. She decides Harry Potter will be her mother and travels back in time to make sure her father (Lord Voldemort) marries her mother (Harry Potter) This shit is comedy gold! Go check it out!!!
> 
> Also! If any of you artistic people out there make fan art for this fiction, please hop over to Wattpad and message me (same username) so I can tell you how you can send it to me! I would love to see it (I'm not kidding, art gives me life!)  
> \--------------------  
> Greyback:*clearly holding Little One hostage*  
> Voldemort: *clearly threatening Greyback's life*  
> Little One: *clearly terrified*  
> Larry: *clearly sleeping*  
> Death: **Ahh, I love it when they make new friends**


	37. 35: The Shadowy Figure

_**-November 25, 1991-**_  
“Greyback, I do believe you heard what I said,” Voldemort said, teeth clenched at the sight of the giant werewolf holding his son by the back of his shirt with his claws. “I am not inclined to repeat myself.” 

Greyback grins, his fangs glinting against the peeking moonlight. “Oh! You mean you want me to drop this little kid?” Greyback asked, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he held Little One up higher. Voldemort grit his teeth. 

“Set. Him. Down.” Voldemort said, his voice bordering on a hiss. “ _Now_.” 

Greyback tilts his head, putting his free hand on his chin and twisting his other arm so that he was holding Little One under his arm, his hand resting on his hips. Voldemort’s jaw audibly clicked at the sight. “I don’t know, I think I like having the strange kid in my arms,” Greyback says, his eyes dancing with the taunt. “Maybe I’ll keep him.” 

In response, Voldemort pointed his wand at the werewolf. “Just because you are the Alpha King, does not mean you do not bow to me.” Voldemort snapped. “I am still your Lord and you _will_ respect my words and do as I say.” 

Greyback maneuvered Little One in his arms once again, this time holding the toddler to his chest as the werewolf dipped into an exaggerated bow. “Oh, of course! Forgive me, My Lord! Allow me to set the cub on his feet before I bend over backwards for you.” 

Greyback snickered, but Voldemort remained unamused. Voldemort hated that he couldn’t do anything about the blatant disrespect that creature dares show him, but he needed to maintain a good partnership with the werewolves. The last thing Voldemort felt like dealing with was a war with the werewolves. Due to Voldemort’s reign, the laws on werewolf regulations shifted. They allowed the creatures to form their own government under the rule of Greyback. Because of this, Voldemort was required to hold diplomatic meetings with the werewolf once every decade or so to maintain their alliance and work on updating laws together. 

The last time Voldemort had seen Greyback was just after the war had been won and the werewolf king was starting to govern. Voldemort supposed it was time for a meeting with the werewolf, but Voldemort didn’t realize that Greyback would break into his castle in the middle of the night, or he would’ve set out some traps. 

Greyback sighed when he realized how irritated Voldemort was getting. “All right, fine,” Greyback huffed. “Take the little cretin.” 

Greyback bent down to set Little One on his feet, who in turn stumbled over them in his haste to get away. Voldemort allowed Little One to cower into the hem of his robes, a hand reaching down to pat his head. Voldemort stubbornly kept his crimson gaze on Greyback, even as he bent down to lift Little One into his arms. With Little One safe in his arms, Voldemort allowed himself to address the werewolf king. 

“What are you doing in my castle, Greyback?” Voldemort demanded. It was too late at night, and Voldemort was too high strung from his dream… _thing_ , to deal with any of the werewolf’s bullshit. 

(Voldemort was so done, he allowed himself to slip into such crass tongue!)

Greyback smirked. “Why, to see you, My Lord! Why else?” 

“Greyback. It is nearly one AM. You’d better have a good reason for breaking into my house and holding my son hostage.” Voldemort snarled, his patience snapping. 

Greyback held his hands up in mock surrender. “There are some things we need to go over,” Greyback said simply. “Didn’t know you had a pup, though. When did that happen? You should take him to a doctor or somethin’, by the way, he smells like death. Think he’s sick.” 

Voldemort grit his teeth. “Go to the meeting hall and wait there,” Voldemort ordered. “I will be there shortly.” 

“As you command, _My Lord_.” Greyback said, a shit-eating grin stretched across his scarred face. Voldemort ignored the sass in favor of imagining the werewolf writhing on the floor in agony. 

As the werewolf sauntered off towards Voldemort’s meeting hall, Voldemort cradled his son’s trembling body close and walked towards his bedroom. Voldemort carded his fingers through Little One’s tangled hair in a soothing gesture, trying to calm him down. 

“What were you doing out there, dearest?” Voldemort asked softly. “Did you hear something?”

“Shadow, Papa.” Little One said, his voice almost silent. Voldemort frowned, his eyebrows cinching together in confusion. Voldemort wanted to question the toddler further, but it was late, and Voldemort just wanted to go back to sleep, so he decided to save it for tomorrow morning. 

“Okay darling,” Voldemort said gently. He pushed open the door to Little One’s bedroom and carefully set the toddler down on the bed. Little One curled up under the warm blankets, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the sight of Larry sleeping peacefully in the sheets. “Go back to sleep dearest, Papa needs to deal with something, okay?” 

Little One nodded, but Voldemort could see the wariness in his son’s emerald eyes. “Safe Papa?” Little One asked, looking at Voldemort with concern. 

“Yes darling, I’ll be safe,” Voldemort said with a smile. “Now, go back to sleep. I’ll send Nagini in to stay with you in a little while.” 

Satisfied that Voldemort was in no immediate danger, Little One sank into the comfort of his bed. “Night night, Papa.” Little One said drowsily. 

Voldemort smiled fondly, brushing a stray curl out of his precious’ face. “Night night, sweetheart.” 

With Little One sleeping safely in his bed, Voldemort stood and made his way to the meeting hall where the irritating werewolf king waited. Voldemort entered the meeting hall with his head high, making sure that he maintained a cool, indifferent mask, despite his annoyance at the late hour. 

“Why are you here, Greyback?” Voldemort demanded, making his way to the throne. Greyback only smiles at him, the skin around his mouth pulling his scars taught. 

“When did you get a pup, My Lord?” Greyback asks, tilting his head. 

“You didn’t come here to talk about my son,” Voldemort says, dismissing the question. “Why did you really come? I don’t have time for this.” 

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” Greyback said, ignoring Voldemort’s demand and in turn, angering the Dark Lord further. “I wanna talk about the pup! Who did you bump uglies with, eh?” 

Voldemort sniffed at the crass language. “Watch yourself, mutt.” 

“He’s kind of cute, you know,” Greyback continued, a satisfied smirk resting on his lips, taunting him. “A little weird, but in an adorable way.” 

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far away from him, Greyback.” Voldemort said, his tone giving away just how angered he truly was. 

Greyback’s smirk grew. “Good thing I don’t know what’s good for me, then.” 

Voldemort’s patience snapped at the taunt, and Voldemort snarled as he reached for his wand, desperate to put the mutt in his place when a familiar coolness swept the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and Voldemort could feel his goose flesh prickle. 

“ **Temper, temper**.” Voldemort can feel the whisper on his ear, and Voldemort refuses to dignify the shiver he feels with a response. The being’s presence is suffocating and _so close_. 

Voldemort whirls around, expecting to see the hazy figure from his dream standing behind him, only to see nothing. The empty space seems to taunt him, and Voldemort hisses in anger before he turns around to deal with Greyback. Said werewolf who is currently staring at him quizzically, a strange mixture of confusion and amusement resting on his face. 

Voldemort instantly decides that he can’t deal with Greyback this late at night. “Get out of my castle Greyback, before I make a new rug with your hide.” Voldemort snarls. 

Greyback, as annoying as ever, just throws back his head and laughs. “As you wish, _My Lord_.” he said with a grin. “I’ll leave you to your crazy.” 

Voldemort throws a nonverbal stinging hex at the werewolf’s behind as he struts away. Voldemort grits his teeth as the door to his meeting hall clicks shut, the booming laugh of Greyback still echoing against the stone walls. 

The second Voldemort is sure that the irritating werewolf is gone, Voldemort spins back around to face the general direction of the voice he’d heard moments earlier. Though he can’t see anything, Voldemort can feel the presence of the faceless thing from earlier. Voldemort knows that it’s here. 

“Show yourself.” Voldemort demands. Absentmindedly, Voldemort wonders if the being ever gets tired of the demand. Perhaps if it would just show itself like a normal person instead of masking it’s presence like a creep, Voldemort wouldn’t have to demand such things. “Come on, I know you’re there. Show yourself.” 

Nothing happens, and for a moment, Voldemort wonders if he really is going crazy. He knows that horcruxes aren’t exactly the best method of immortality, and he also knows that if he had made more than one, he wouldn’t be in his best state of mind. However, Voldemort stopped after his first one, deciding that the ‘Seven Horcrux’ plan he made when he was in sixth year wasn’t the best idea. 

But then the shadows bubble, just like they did in his dream, and Voldemort watches as they twist and writhe together to form a humanoid figure. Just like in his dream, the figure wears a three-piece muggle suit, however this time, instead of flowing black hair and glowing green eyes, the figure has cropped brown hair, and a short beard to match, and while the eyes seemed to glow green still, there seemed to be almost a bluish hue to it. 

The figure smiled at him and sat down on his throne, stretching out his limbs over the arm rests and holding his chin with his hand. 

“ **Hello, my dear**.”

* * *

Fenrir muffled his snickers in the palm of his hand as he walked away from the Dark Lord’s meeting hall. It really had been too long since Fenrir had seen the man, so much had changed in the past eleven years! He’d meant to visit sooner, but being the Alpha King of the werewolves was a lot more work than he’d originally anticipated.

And apparently, while Fenrir was busy starting a new government for werewolves, the Dark Lord was getting busy! Of all the things Fenrir expected from his visit, a _child_ was not one of them. Fenrir never thought the Dark Lord Voldemort would be the paternal type, but clearly he was wrong. 

“Angry Papa bear,” Fenrir chuckled to himself. “So scary.” 

As Fenrir walked through the familiar halls of the Dark Lord’s ridiculously grand castle (“Somebody is clearly compensating for something.”), his mind wanded. The child of the Dark Lord was small---still a toddler---so he must have been born recently. Though, Fenrir would have thought that the Dark Lord would announce the birth of his heir. 

Still, there was something… not quite _right_ about that child. 

Fenrir couldn’t put his finger on it, but he could’ve sworn the child was sick. The toddler reeked of the sickly-sweet scent of death---he was practically bathed in it! That, and the overwhelming feeling of Dark Magic that completely covered the child. 

Perhaps the toddler really was sick. It would explain why the Dark Lord was protective of him, and it would explain why no one knows of his existence. A sick heir was a vulnerable heir, and while the Dark Lord was a very dangerous and powerful man, he made quite a few enemies. Enemies who, should they discover the sickly heir, wouldn’t hesitate to attack. 

Just as Fenrir was about to exit the castle, a breeze blew in through the open door, and Fenrir caught a whiff of the sickly-sweet scent of Voldemort’s pup. Fenrir paused in the threshold of the door for a second, his eyes glancing out towards the woods before Fenrir grinned and stepped back, closing the door. 

Fenrir always was a curious wolf. 

Fenrir breathed in deeply, searching for the scent. He followed his nose through the castle, up two flights of stairs, and down a dark hallway that Fenrir was not supposed to be in. The scent led him to a closed door made of wood, vines and flowers twined through the wood. 

How curious. Fenrir had never seen a door like that before. Taking in another deep breath, Fenrir grasped the handle (a small hole in the vines and flowers) and pushed the door open. Fenrir was greeted with a beautiful fairy garden. 

Fenrir looked around with wide eyes, taking in the sights. His bare feet sunk into the warm grass, and wild flowers and bushes swayed gently to a breeze that came from nowhere, brushing against his exposed shins. Fenrir could hear the trickling of a waterfall, and hundreds of tiny fireflies danced through the tall grass, bathing the garden in gentle yellow light. The air was crisp and clean, and everything smelled of flowers and nature. 

Everything except, of course, the sickly-sweet scent of the child.

Fenrir eyes were drawn to the large oak tree standing in the center of the room, a bed swing hanging from the branches. Tiny balls of light and flowers were braided into the vines that held the bed swing aloft, and sitting in the bed, swathed in blankets, sat the very child Fenrir was searching for. 

Without threats of a _cruciatus_ , Fenrir took the time to study the Dark Lord’s child. Now that he could get a good look at him, Fenrir noticed that the child didn’t really look anything like the Dark Lord. Save for the dark hair, the child held no similarities. The child’s wide eyes were practically glowing emerald as they stared at Fenrir’s figure. Held tight to the child’s chest, was a tiny yellow fluff ball. Upon closer inspection, the fluff ball was discovered to be a duckling. 

Despite the cuteness of the sight---a tiny child wrapped in blankets, only their head sticking out of the covers, holding a tiny duckling to their chest---Fenrir couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. There was something about the Dark Lord’s child that wasn’t normal. 

The sharp, citrusy scent of fear filled the air, disrupting the peaceful scene before him. Fenrir realized at that moment that he’d been staring for too long, and the child didn’t know who he was, so he didn’t know that Fenrir had no intention of hurting him. Fenrir could see the child trembling from where he stood, and he felt oddly bad about scaring him. 

Fenrir stepped forward, the grass tickling the soles of his feet as he walked towards the bedswing where the terrified child resided. 

“Hey… it’s okay… I’m not here to hurt you…” Fenrir cooed softly, using the tone he used whenever he spoke to the pups of his pack. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m a friend of your---”

Fenrir cut himself off abruptly, freezing in place a few feet away from the shaking child. His amber eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the stitches marring the toddler’s neck, a gruesome additive to an otherwise happy picture. 

Finally, all the pieces connect. 

The reason why the child smells like death and dark magic, the reason why no one knows about him, the reason why Fenrir couldn’t shake the feeling of _wrongness_ with the child. It all made sense now. The child sitting in blankets and cuddling a duckling is an _Inferius_! 

The Dark Lord’s son was an inferius. 

_What the f_ \---

The inferius was well made, clearly---not surprising given who created it. There were no signs of an Inferius anywhere on the child, no rotting skin or putrid smell. Had Fenrir not noticed the stitches, he wouldn’t have known that the toddler in front of him wasn’t alive. 

The knowledge that the Dark Lord’s son was an inferius changed everything. No wonder the Dark Lord was so protective of the thing! Fenrir supposed that if someone killed his pup, he’d be protective of him too! The real question now was, who killed the Dark Lord’s son? 

Fenrir couldn’t help the wariness that spread through him as he stared at the Inferius. Fenrir knew that appearances could be deceiving, and despite being an adorable toddler, the Inferius could be the most dangerous thing in the room right now. Fenrir knew that he was the one who invaded the creature’s territory, and by law, the Inferius was well within his rights to attack. 

Inferius were nasty pieces of work, Fenrir knew this from the war, and he had no desire to be torn apart by their claws. Fenrir kept his eyes trained on the Inferius, watching for any sudden movements, as he slowly began to backtrack. 

By now, the child had stopped shaking, and the scent of fear had all but dissipated from the room. Instead of cowering into his duck, the inferius was now staring at Fenrir curiously, his head tilted slightly in confusion, unconsciously displaying the stitches that ran up the side of his neck. 

Just as Fenrir was about to turn around and flee, the Inferius moved. Fenrir tensed, preparing himself for an attack as the blankets rustled. A tiny, pale hand stretched out from the cocoon of blankets, and Fenrir stared at it in shock.

In the Inferius’ hands, the reason why Fenrir was staring, was a single stalk of yellow flowers. Fenrir recognized the flower as Goldenrod, a flower given to people as a sign of encouragement. The child’s emerald eyes were wide with a child-like innocence as he held out the flower to Fenrir. 

A warm feeling bubbled in his chest as Fenrir slowly bent down to take the flower. The second Fenrir’s fingers closed around the stem, a blinding smile erupted on the toddler’s face, and Fenrir could’ve sworn that the room got a little brighter. 

“Thank you…” Fenrir said softly, holding the flower delicately, like it was a precious jewel. Fenrir could see that the child was still wary of him, yet despite this, he still offered him a token of friendship. 

The child nodded slightly before burying his face in the duckling’s feathers. Fenrir couldn’t take his eyes off the adorable scene before him. In his hands, the Goldenrod wiggled against the light breeze, and Fenrir clutched it tightly, not willing to let the flower fly away. 

No one had ever given Fenrir a flower before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dynamic of Greyback and Voldemort is kind of like that one bitchy friend who you always fight with, and lowkey wanna kill them, but at the same time they're your ride or die and when you're together everyone is afraid cuz you either get a lot of shit done, or someone dies.
> 
> _Credit to this beautiful fan art goes to Shinestiaa. Thank you so much for your work, it's incredible!!! :)_
> 
> Also, if you want to see another beautiful work of art, please go to Chapter 7: A Freaky Thing, where I recently uploaded another fan art! 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** How Many Times Mica? written by Cinder7Storm4  
> This is a Teen Wolf fic focusing on the dynamic between Stiles and his father. This is one of my favorite fics for the fandom. Go check it out!!!!   
> \---------------------  
> Little One: *doing his usual flowery thing*  
> Greyback:


	38. 36: The Duos Torment

_**-November 24, 1991-**_  
Voldemort stared at the humanoid figure lounging across his stone throne with wide eyes. The figure smiled a shit-eating grin at him, and Voldemort bristled at the smugness that seemed to be radiating off of him. The being was meeting Voldemort’s gaze head-on, and everything about it screamed amused. 

“Who are you?” Voldemort demands, and he is seriously beginning to get tired of asking the same question over and over again. “Why are you here?”

The figure’s impossibly large smile seemed to grow even wider, and it gently eased itself out of the throne and walked breezily over to him, yet Voldemort didn’t hear any footsteps. “ **You seem to enjoy that question, my Dear**.” the being said. 

Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes when the being leaned forward, their noses brushing. Voldemort walked back several steps, a hand coming up to cover his suddenly flushed cheeks. “Have you no concept of personal space?!” Voldemort cried, fury lacing his words. 

“ **Is that another silly mortal concept?** ” the being asked. Voldemort took that as a ‘no’. 

“Yes,” Voldemort snarled. “And it’s one I’m quite fond of. Now, for the last time, who are you and why are you here?!”

“ **I am still angry with you, you know** ,” the being said, completely ignoring Voldemort’s question. (Again.) Voldemort seethed. “ **You took my Master from me. I’ve been waiting a very long time for him**.” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea as to what you’re talking about.” Voldemort said, his tone betraying just how irritated he was with having one-sided conversations with the being. 

“ **However I had a very enlightening talk with my Dear Sister**.” the being continued, and Voldemort frowned. What was with this… this _thing_ and cryptic messages? Voldemort could feel a migraine building. 

This was not how Voldemort saw his night going. All he really wanted was to sleep peacefully and instead he had a nameless being invade his dreams, a Werewolf king invade his home and threaten his son, and then have said nameless being intrude on him yet again! 

“It’s too late at night for this.” Voldemort muttered to himself, bringing a finger up to massage his temples. 

“ **Ah yes, I forgot mortal’s strange need for sleep** ,” the being said, completely ignoring the dark glare that was sent his way. “ **I find it flattering that you wish to sleep. It is often thought that sleep is but Mortal’s living brush with death**.”

Voldemort squinted at the being. “What does that even _mean_?” 

The being chuckled, and Voldemort grit his teeth at the sound of countless voices overlapping bouncing around in his meeting hall. “ **In due time, my Dear Immortal Lord, in due time**.” 

“I assume your irritatingly vague words will continue, then?” Voldemort asked resigned frustration laced deep within his words. The being only smiled at him. Voldemort found his gaze wandering over the thing once more, and frowned. “You look different.” 

“ **Oh? You look often enough to know that?** ” the being asked, and Voldemort scowled at the teasing tone. 

“No. That’s not what I meant.” Voldemort said curtly. “Last time I saw you, you had longer hair. And green eyes. Now you…” Voldemort trailed off, his hands waving around the being’s general direction as if to highlight what he meant. “You know.” 

The being smiled. “ **Physical appearance is mortal. I have none, so I shift through all forms. It allows me to blend in anywhere**.” 

Voldemort listened harder gleefully. Finally, Voldemort was getting some useful information about the strange being. Not wanting to lose the opportunity to learn more about his mysterious nuisance, Voldemort pressed harder. “Anywhere? Do you mean to tell me you can look like anyone? Anything?” 

“ **Of course**.” the being said, almost amused at Voldemort’s questions. Voldemort’s eyes widened when the shadows shifted once more and covered the being. Voldemort’s eyes strained to watch what was happening, but the shadows completely covered the being. Then, just as suddenly as the shadows appeared, they vanished. 

Voldemort stared wide-eyed at the sight of a beautiful woman with blonde hair done up in a tight bun, high cheekbones, and hazel eyes. The being grinned cheekily at him, and Voldemort regained his composure. “So now you’re a woman?” 

The being tilted it’s head. “ **Gender, like physical form, is a mortal thing. My kin and I have no genders of a mortal standard. You would not be able to comprehend what I am, as I am neither mortal man nor woman. I am, however, male divinity**.” 

“That did not answer my question, merely give me thousands more,” Voldemort said bitterly. “So you are a man?” 

“ **I am not a man. I am not a woman**.” the being said, a bemused smirk resting on it’s face. “ **I am male divinity. However, for the sake of your small mortal mind, yes. I am a man**.” 

“Divinity? What does that mean?” Voldemort asked, leaning forward. “Are you a God?” 

The being chuckled again, a light tinkling sound coming from the feminine figure, but Voldemort could still hear the overlap of voices, though they were quieter than before. “ **You mortals and your gods** ,” he said. “ **Do you classify everything you cannot understand as god?** ”

“Are you one?” Voldemort asked again, determined to get an actual answer. 

The being tapped his finger against his face. “ **I suppose I could be. I always am and always will be. Is that not your definition of a god?** ” 

“So what’s a god doing in my meeting hall at two am in the morning?” Voldemort asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow at the being. Perhaps he would get lucky and receive an actual answer now. “What do you want with me?” 

The being smiled fondly at Voldemort, and Voldemort couldn’t help but shiver under the god’s(?) intense gaze. He walked forward, the feminine figure’s hips swinging as he walked, once again ignoring Voldemort’s personal space in favor of tapping Vodemort’s cheek. “ **What I want?** ” he asked, a breathy chuckle escaping his pink lips. “ **Darling I want nothing, for I already have _everything_**.” 

The tension in the air spiked, and Voldemort could not help but stare into the being’s eyes, his own crimson eyes wide with shock. The moment lasted for a very long time before the being pulled back, and Voldemort couldn’t help but feel like he just missed something very important. 

Voldemort cleared his throat and stepped back, increasing the distance between him and the being. “Well, if you’re planning on sticking around to bother me, I don’t suppose you’ll join me in the study?” Voldemort asked, ignoring the questioning glance from the being. “I have research I have to do.” 

“ **On what subject?** ” the being asked cheekily. When Voldemort’s only response was a scoff, he smiled wider. “ **Very well. Perhaps I will be able to help you. I am quite knowledgeable, after all.** ” 

“Perfect. If you’ll just follow me, the study is this way---what are you doing?” Voldemort cut himself off when he felt the warm weight on his back. While Voldemort had turned to walk to the study, the being had thrown himself onto Voldemort’s back. 

“ **Carry me**.” 

Voldemort paused. He breathed in deeply. 

“You’re a god.” 

“ **I command you to carry me.** ” 

“Are you… are you serious?” 

“ **As a heart attack**.” came the muffled response. Voldemort straightened his back when he felt the being nuzzle into the small of his spine. 

“You… What’s the matter with you? Are you ill?” Voldemort sputtered. “Why are you acting like this?” 

Voldemort could feel the being smile against his back. “ **We are friends now** ,” the being said cheerfully. “ **This is how friends behave. Carry me.** ”

“We are not friends,” Voldemort denied quickly. “I know nothing about you! Besides that, what kind of friends are you speaking of? No one acts like this, friend or no!” 

“ **You’re hurting my feelings…** ” the being said softly. “ **I want to be your friend.** ” 

“Are you… Are you _pouting_ right now?” 

“ **You will be my friend. I’ve already decided. We must be together constantly to cement our bond**.” the being said matter-of-factly. 

“Why does a god want to be my friend?” Voldemort asked, craning his neck back to look at the figure currently trying to become one with his robes. 

“ **In due time**.” was all he said. Voldemort was seriously starting to hate that phrase. 

“I’m not carrying you.” Voldemort said finally, struggling to come up with what to say to the strange being. 

The being sighed dejectedly. “ **Very well**.” Before Voldemort had the chance to react, the god had pulled away from his robes and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before running off in the direction of his study. “ **That shall have to suffice for now**.” 

Voldemort was left standing frozen in the entrance to his meeting hall, his eyes impossibly wide as he stared at the spot where the god had been standing seconds earlier, a single hand reaching up to brush against his cheek.

“What have I gotten into?” he asked to no one.

* * *

_**-November 25, 1991-**_  
Severus knew he couldn’t hide forever, but he had hoped he would be able to put it off for a bit longer. Ever since the uncomfortable apology he’d received a week ago, Severus had been avoiding the pair. He had managed to avoid having another conversation with the couple, save for training which was unfortunately unavoidable. 

He knew his luck would run out eventually. 

“Severus!” 

“Bloody hell why won’t they just leave me alone?” Severus moaned to himself as he quickened his strides. He pretended not to hear the shouts from the werewolf behind him. If he could just get to his rooms, he knew he could avoid the pair for the rest of the day. 

It seemed they had come to the same conclusion as out of nowhere Black showed up in front of him, blocking the only path to his room. “Going somewhere?” Black asked. That was not unusual, as Severus was used to Black blocking him and goading him before he attacked. What was unusual, however, was the lack of maliciousness in his tone. 

“To my rooms.” Severus said curtly. “Move.” 

“We’ve been trying to talk to you lately,” Black continued, ignoring Severus’ demand. “We haven’t been able to get ahold of you.” 

“That’s very unfortunate. My heart bleeds for you.” Severus said dryly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have somewhere I need to be.” 

“I do mind, actually,” Black said, moving closer to him. Severus grit his teeth. “Please, we just want to talk.” 

“Cornering me in an empty corridor doesn’t really comfort me.” Severus snapped. He hated that he felt afraid, but he couldn’t help it. Years of abuse from Black had conditioned him to always be wary. Severus forced himself to remain indifferent, refusing to acknowledge his slightly trembling fingers. 

“We aren’t here to hurt you, Severus,” Lupin said softly, causing Severus to tense. He’d forgotten about Lupin, and he cursed himself for his carelessness. “Truly. We only want to talk.” 

“Then talk!” Severus snarled. “Hurry up! I don’t have all day!” 

“We just want to know why you’ve been avoiding us,” Black said softly. “That’s all.” 

Severus stared at him for a second, and Severus knew his bewildered expression was confusing the pair. “Are you serious? _That’s_ your question? Are you dull?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Black snapped defensively. 

“Why shouldn’t I avoid you?” Severus demanded, ignoring Black’s indignant mutters. “Give me a single reason why I would ever want to spend time with you?” 

For a moment, Severus could have sworn Black looked hurt. But then his face hardened, and Severus wasn’t sure if the pain had ever been there in the first place. “Because we’re in this together, Snape!”

Severus let out a bitter chuckle. “Together? You really _are_ dull, aren’t you.” His biting tone caused Lupin to flinch. “You’re here because you’re a stupid, sentimental idiot. That is no one’s fault but your own. Lupin followed you because that’s what he always does. I am here for a reason.”

“So are we.” Black argued. “And talk about him like that! Remus is his own person!” 

“I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation,” Severus continued, acting as though he hadn’t heard Black’s protests. “Was there something you needed, Black? Or did you simply wish to bore me with your sentiments?” 

“Severus, please. We just want to stay with you,” Lupin said softly. “You’re the only person here we’re familiar with. We’re comfortable around you and we just thought---”

“You just thought what? That I felt the same way?” Severus laughed, and it was dark and full of bitterness. “Well, I don’t. Why would I ever be comfortable around you? You, who tormented me whenever you had the chance! You, who ruined my clothes, my books, my life! You, who humiliated me and hurt me! You all made my life hell! Why would I ever want to be near you?”

“Snape… Severus I---” Severus cut Black off before he had the chance to say something that would only make him angrier. 

“Merlin, you made me miserable!” Severus cried, ignoring the spike of righteous anger he felt when he saw the pair flinch. “And for what? Because _James Potter_ told you to?”

“Don’t talk about James---”

“---like that, yes I know,” Severus hissed. “Grow up, Black. James Potter was not the saint you saw him as. He was nothing but a bully. Just like you and the rest of your friends.” 

“We were just kids,” Black said harshly. “That’s not fair.” 

“Fair? _Fair_?” Severus scoffed. “You want to talk about what’s not fair? It’s not fair to constantly repair your school robes because you can’t afford to buy new ones every day! It’s not fair to be constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t about to be attacked. It’s not fair to hide your assignments and belongings so they don’t get stolen and ruined just for the entertainment of other people! It’s not fair to spend what little money you do have on medical supplies because you can’t go to the nurse after you've been injured because you know you’re too vulnerable there, and you know you’ll get attacked!

“Fair, you say. What do you know about fairness?” Severus continues, ignoring the shocked looks on the couple in front of him. “You, Sirius Black, have never been fair. Why should I give you such a luxury when you never did to me?”

“We were kids…” Black said softly. “We.. It’s different now… We’re adults… We’re not the same people we used to be Severus---”

“Don’t call me that,” Severus snapped. “You’re an adult? Spare me your bullshit, Black.” Black’s eyes widened at the vulgar language, but Severus wasn’t finished. “Even now I am wary. Me, a grown wizard, am wary of you. Whenever I am near you, my hand itches towards my wand because I never know if you will attack.” 

“Snape…” 

“You’re an adult now, Black? Look around you, look at where you’re standing,” Severus demanded. “I was avoiding you, I wasn’t doing what _you_ wanted and what did you do? You fell back on your old habits! You cornered me in an empty corridor. No witnesses. Nothing to stop you or your temper.” 

“I wouldn’t… that’s not---”

“Yes, you’re an adult now Black,” Severus continued. “But have you grown up? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the same bigoted bully you’ve always been.” 

“Severus… I… I’m so sor---” 

“Don’t.” Severus’s response is curt and brutal, and a small part of him relishes the anguished expression on Black’s face, while a smaller, traitorous part of him regrets it. Severus refuses to let the traitorous part of him win and he hammers in the final nail.

“After everything that’s happened, wouldn’t you avoid your tormentors too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the angst fairy, fairy of angst! **throws glitter into your eyes**
> 
> (Lol the slow burn was legit. Get ready for the rollercoaster of healing and developing feelings and the entire shit show that is the Severus/Remus/Sirius ship.) 
> 
> (Death said 'fuck your slow burn he's mine now') 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** You Could Be Great You Know written by Siriface  
> This is a good fic where the Dursley's abuse is revealed to the wizarding world and consequentially, Harry is adopted by the Malfoys. Honestly, this fic hit hard. Features Dark curious Harry Potter and protective dark side. Go check it out!  
> \------------------  
> Death: **We're friends now. We do friend things**  
>  Voldemort: Like joke?  
> Death: **Like kiss**  
>  Voldemort: What?  
> Death: **What?**  
>  Voldemort: What kind of 'friends' are you talking about?  
> Death: *disappears into the shadows*  
> Voldemort: WHAT KIND OF FRIEND---


	39. 37: Death?

_**-November 27, 1991-**_  
Three days. Three _whole_ days. Three whole days with the irritating being that refused to leave him alone. Three whole days of non stop bickering and vague responses, all of which threatened to drive Voldemort completely insane. Despite his best efforts, the nameless being refused to leave Voldemort’s side, and continued to speak to him, despite knowing that _no one else could see him_! 

The being had at first agreed to research with him, but after three hours of Voldemort reading and unhelpful remarks from the nameless being, Voldemort came to the conclusion that the being was not actually going to help him. If anything, the being was hindering Voldemort's research. 

Whenever Voldemort would come across anything that seemed even remotely helpful, the being would interject with sarcastic comments that caused Voldemort to grind his teeth together. 

“You mentioned you were of divinity?” Voldemort had asked, four hours into their impromptu research session---one that was occurring at five in the morning, and Voldemort had already been up all night, so he was incredibly irritable. 

“ **Yes**.” The response was curt and offered Voldemort no insight into what the being was thinking. 

“There are several types of Divinity,” Voldemort prompted. “Are you of a magical descent? Muggle?”

“ **You’re right. I forgot. I am a muggle god appearing to you, a wizard, with the intention of declaring war against your race. Your gods and my kind shall fight to the death**.” 

Voldemort scowled. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” 

“ **Really? I thought it was fantastic**.” 

Voldemort sighed. “Are you actually going to help me?” he asked, lifting his head from the book that he was reading to meet the gaze of the nameless being currently leaning against his bookshelf. He was looking at Voldemort with an irritatingly smug grin. At some point during the four hours that they’d been together, he had shifted from the female form to the form of a stout middle-aged man. 

“ **Where’s the fun in that**?” he asked, tilting his head to display the mousy brown mustache resting above his thin lips. 

“The fun would be getting to know new information so I can go to sleep,” Voldemort said with a frown. “And hopefully, find a way to get rid of you.” 

The being pouted. “ **That’s mean! If you’re so sleepy, I can fix that for you**!”

“Oh? Pray tell.”

The being suddenly stood up and began to approach him. Voldemort, fearing yet another display of affection from the being, leaned back, away from the approaching figure. The being held out his hand and pressed his pointer finger against Voldemort’s temple. 

Suddenly, all the fatigue that Voldemort had been feeling for the past few hours was gone. Feeling refreshed, yet incredibly confused, Voldemort looked up at the being. “What did you do?” he asked curiously. 

“ **I removed your fatigue. Do you feel better, my Dear**?” the being asked him. 

“I do…” Voldemort said suspiciously. “Why would you do that?” 

“ **That’s what friends do for each other**!” the being responded happily. 

That was three days ago, and Voldemort found himself growing quite tired of the being and his confusing take on what ‘friendship’ was. After the being removed his fatigue, they continued to research (read: Voldemort researched, the being was altogether a nuisance) until Little One awoke and barged in the room. 

The second Little One entered, the being disappeared. Voldemort let out an audible sigh of relief when the being’s icy presence disappeared. Voldemort spent the day with his son and his son’s adoptive duckling Larry, ignoring the lurking presence of Greyback somewhere on the grounds, and allowed himself to relax. 

When Voldemort put his child to sleep the next night, the being was back. Voldemort fought the urge to bash his head into a wall and instead chose to ignore the being’s presence. Voldemort got changed into his pajamas and began his nightly ritual before climbing into bed. 

The being, it seemed, was not keen on being ignored. 

The second Voldemort’s head hit the pillow, Voldemort felt the space next to him dip, and Voldemort snapped his eyes open to see the figure getting comfortable next to him, slipping the feet of his form under the blankets. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Voldemort demanded, lifting his body up on one elbow. 

“ **I’ve never needed sleep before, you know** ,” he said, the light from the moon slipping in through the crack of his curtain and casting a shadow against the being’s angular face. “ **I thought I’d try it out with you.** ”

“Yes, but why are you doing it in _my_ bed?!” Voldemort hissed. The being raised an eyebrow at him. 

“ **Where else am I supposed to sleep**?” he asked, daring to look confused. 

“I don’t know! Wherever you come from, I suppose!” Voldemort said with a harsh breath. He then leaned in slightly closer, ignoring the delighted expression that flashed across the being’s face. “Where _do_ you come from?” 

“ **A void of nothingness where time stands still and moves faster than your mind can comprehend. It is a space where nothing exists yet everything resides.** ” the being said. 

Voldemort blinked twice before letting a groan, blaming his lack of composure on his exhaustion. Despite the being removing his fatigue the day before, he was incredibly tired. Voldemort honestly did not have the mental energy to deal with the answer he received. 

“Right. Go there.” Voldemort said finally, when he was sure he wouldn’t scream when he opened his mouth. “Let me sleep.” 

“ **It’s lonely there** ,” the being whined. ( _Whined_! Actually _whined_ like his eternal toddler does whenever Voldemort doesn’t play tag with him.) “ **I’ll miss you**.” 

“Don’t you have a sister or something?” Voldemort asked, narrowing his crimson eyes at the being next to him. “Can’t she keep you company?” 

“ **My Dear Sister only wishes to play chess. I never beat Her**.” the being complained. “ **It is much more fun to stay here with you**.” 

“Chess?” 

“ **Yes, chess**.” the being said. “ **Why is that so surprising**?”

“It’s just such a mortal thing,” Voldemort said softly. “It’s surprising that she would lower herself with such a thing.”

“ **Lower Herself? Mortal thing? That is quite amusing** ,” the being said, a soft chortle escaping his lips as if to prove his point. “ **My Dear Sister created the masterful game of chess. It is through Her that mortals learned of it. Chess is Her game**.” 

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Really? And who is your sister?”

The being grinned at him in a way that told Voldemort he wasn’t getting any answers out of him. “ **You’ll know soon enough, My Dear. Why rush**?” 

Voldemort sighed, and he could feel the exhaustion creeping back in. It had disappeared for a moment when Voldemort thought he was going to get answers, but when he heard the same vague response he’d been getting for the past two days, his sleepiness had returned full-forced. 

“ **You’re tired**.” It wasn’t a question, and Voldemort did not respond to it. The being sat there in contemplative silence for so long that Voldemort had almost assumed he’d left. “ **It’s dangerous to remove your fatigue twice in a row. You must sleep, my Dear. I will remain vigilant and keep you safe**.”

Voldemort, disgruntled at the fact that the being had interrupted his sleep, had just groaned and blindly threw a hand out to silence him. “I am a Dark Lord. I need no protection. Be silent and sleep.” 

It was blissfully quiet then, and Voldemort sunk further into sleep. Had he been awake, he would’ve seen the being’s surprised face melt into a fond smile. He would’ve seen the being lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his temple before settling into the blankets next time. 

When Voldemort awoke this morning, he awoke to the feeling of a warm weight on his back and the feeling of a heavy arm wrapped around his middle. Voldemort frowned in confusion as he opened his eyes to see the being wrapped around him tightly, their legs entangled beneath the covers, and the being’s peaceful expression. 

Voldemort stayed in the surprisingly comfortable position a moment or so longer than he should have before he pulled himself together and woke the being up. The being opened his eyes and smiled at Voldemort before pulling him closer, the opposite reaction that Voldemort had been hoping for. 

“ **Good morning, my Dear** ,” he said, and Voldemort felt his face flush slightly at their close proximity. “ **Sleeping was quite relaxing. I understand now why mortals are so obsessed with it**.” 

Voldemort pushed the being away from him and regained his composure, blaming the redness of his cheeks on the heat of his bedroom. “I have meetings today,” Voldemort said firmly. “You will not bother me during them.” 

“ **I can be quite helpful, if you let me, My Dear**.” the being protested, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, the blankets pooling at his waist. “ **You wouldn’t even know I was there!** ” 

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose, pointedly _not_ thinking about how domestic this felt, and sighed harshly through his mouth. “Yes, fine, whatever. Just don’t bother me.” 

“ **I won’t**.” the being said solemnly. 

He did. 

Voldemort struggled to focus on the information Lucius was relaying to him, as the being was currently floating above his head making funny faces at him. The behavior only further cemented the idea that the being was secretly a big child, as it seemed like something Little One would do. 

“---My Lord? What do you think I should do about it?” Lucius asked, bringing Voldemort’s attention back to him and away from the being that was currently sticking his tongue out at the back of Lucius’ head.

“Hmm? About which thing in particular?” Voldemort asked, keeping the aloof expression on his face. 

“The matter of the Undersecretary, My Lord,” Lucius said. “Currently the Undersecretary is Madame Umbridge, however, I am being urged to decide whether to keep her or choose a new Undersecretary.” 

“Madame Umbridge…?” 

“The erm, toad-ish looking woman, My Lord.” Lucius said. An image of an outlandish woman with toad-like features in an absurd amount of pink comes to mind. 

“Ah yes,” Voldemort says. He is reminded of the uneasy feeling he feels whenever he is around her and frowns. “Choose a new Undersecretary. One that is easily manipulated.” 

“ **The toad woman has no morality** ,” the being suddenly said, prompting Voldemort to look up. “ **I caution you to always be aware of her, My Dear. She does not bode well for you**.”

“Very well, My Lord,” Lucius said with a nod, thankfully not commenting on Voldemort’s drifting gaze. “Have you anyone in mind?”

“I believe that is _your_ job, Lucius, is it not?” Voldemort asked with a pointed glare. “Get rid of her and find someone else. I trust this task is doable?” 

“Yes, My Lord,” Lucius said, bowing his head. “It shall be done.” 

“Good. You are dismissed.” Voldemort said curtly. Lucius bowed once more before standing and exiting his office. Voldemort watched with slight amusement as the being stuck his tongue out at Lucius once more. 

“ **That mortal is rather dull, don’t you think**?” the being asked him. Voldemort merely shook his head and stood, choosing not to answer the being’s question. “ **Where are we going**?”

“I have one last meeting for the day,” Voldemort said, walking through the halls of his castle towards his meeting hall. “Greyback has requested an audience with me.” 

“ **The wolf-man**.” the being stated. Voldemort nodded slightly, aware of the trailing eyes that followed him as he walked through his halls. 

When Voldemort entered his meeting hall, he sat down on his throne and summoned a house-elf and ordered her to fetch Greyback. To his left, the being leaned against his throne casually. When the doors opened to reveal the Werewolf King, Voldemort remained indifferent. 

“Greyback. You broke into my home three days ago,” Voldemort said in an even tone. “I hope you had a good reason for it. I told you to leave but I know you’ve been lurking about my property. Now, why are you here?”

“Can’t I just see an old friend?” Greyback asked, an ugly sarcastic grin slipping onto his face. 

“First of all, we aren’t friends. Second of all, one does not break into another person’s house and threaten their child for the sake of ‘popping in’.” 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Greyback said with a toothy grin. “Cute little thing, though, ain’t he?” 

Voldemort grit his teeth. “Greyback.” 

“Very well, we can save the pleasantries for tea, eh?” Greyback said with a wink. Voldemort merely sighed. Greyback grew serious, the playful grin from before morphing into a tight line. “There’s been a spike in the werewolf population.” 

“And this is my problem because…?” 

“They’re all immigrating from mainland Europe, some from the Americas,” Greyback continued. “There are so many of them, not enough jobs, not enough food, not enough shelter. They’re coming ‘cause the laws where they’re from suck.” 

“What exactly have you come to talk about?” Voldemort asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“I want to expand,” Greyback said. “At the very least to France. We need the space, and if we can fix the werewolf laws along the way, the better.” 

“You hardly need my permission for such a thing.” Voldemort said with a wave of his hand.

“I only need your support,” Greyback said. “An endorsement if you will.”

“Why would you need that? You’re not planning on starting a war, are you?” Voldemort asked curiously. “The Republic is a new county. We can’t risk starting a fight while everyone is settling into the new government.” 

“It won’t be a war _persay_ \---”

“And what would it be?” Voldemort demands. 

“Reaching out and fixing the laws centering dark creatures in other countries, expanding my power and my ability to help dark creatures,” Greyback says. “Dark creatures like your tot.” 

Voldemort tensed. “What exactly are you implying here, Greyback?”

“Nothing, nothing, my Lord,” Greyback said, holding his hands up defensively. The defensive gesture did nothing to hide the antagonistic expression on his face, though. “I wonder though, if your Inferius is comfortable here, surrounded by wizards.” 

The subtle threat is instantly picked up, and Voldemort stood, his face contorting into a mask of rage. “You dare imply that I can’t take care of him?”

“Last I checked you weren’t like him---”

“Watch your words, _mutt_! You want my endorsement, you would do well to remember your place!”

“And where exactly is my place, My Lord? I imagine it’s the same as your pet Inferius, no?”

“You---” 

Just as Voldemort moved to curse the disrespectful mutt into oblivion, the doors to the meeting hall were pushed open, and in walked said Inferius. Little One---forgoing his usual dress shirt and shorts for a pair of overalls and green T-shirt---skipped into the room, Larry nestled into the center of his hair. 

Little One approached the werewolf king, and Voldemort bristled at the smug grin Greyback shot him when Little One gave him a quick hug. _How dare_ \--- 

When Little One turned around to face him, Voldemort was expecting a soft smile and a hug too, so he was confused when instead, he received a surprised gasp. 

Voldemort watched with confusion as Little One froze in place, his face paling drastically. “Precious?” Voldemort asks slowly, staring with concern at the frozen expression on his son’s face. 

Little One sucks in a startled gasp and Voldemort feels ice flow through his veins when he realizes that the Inferius isn’t looking at him, but the being standing behind him. The being that should be invisible to everyone but him. 

“Death?” Little One asks in a hushed tone, and Voldemort’s body turns stiff. 

Suddenly, the being behind him let out a hoarse chuckle. “ **Hello Master**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Welp. The secret's out of the bag now! Let the drama begin!!!!! 
> 
> _Credit to the lovely fanart today goes to Cristal. Thank you so much for this beautiful artwork!!_
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Mouth Shut (Eyes Down) written by Carolinaa   
> I love this work, it's a BNHA fic that focuses on the trauma Izuku faced during his middle school days, and it really addresses the problems with it. It's a great dadzawa fic!!!! Go check it out!!!
> 
> (Also, on an unrelated note, but not really, if any of you guys wanna help me out by going to my profile and checking out a fic search that I posted, I would really appreciate it! I really want to find this fic, but so far, no one has found it. Please help me!!)   
> \-------------------  
> Author: Welcome to another round of everyone's favorite game!  
> Author: SPOT THE FORESHADOWING!!!!  
> Author: Today's prize...  
> Author: More time to prepare for the emotional trauma I intend to put you through!


	40. 38: Realizations

_**-November 28, 1991-**_  
Voldemort didn’t know what was happening, and it was throwing him off because Voldemort always knows what’s happening. One second he was preparing to make a new fur rug, and the next his precious son is naming the nameless being that had been haunting him for the past few weeks. 

Greyback stares at him, his head tilted ever so slightly, his amber eyes displaying the confusion he no doubt feels as he tries to figure out what exactly just happened. Voldemort wastes no time in dismissing the mutt, no longer in the mood to deal with the werewolf’s ulterior motives and schemes. 

The second the door closes---Greyback throwing him a knowing glance when he demands he leaves, as if to say, ‘ _You’re going crazy now?_ ’---Voldemort whirls around to stare at the nameless being that had been driving him mad these past weeks. 

“What.” Voldemort says curtly, no longer asking questions. Voldemort watches as he winces, the being shifting ever so slightly, his aristocratic features twisting into an almost apologetic glance. 

“ **Darling** \---”

“Precious, can you see him?” Voldemort asked, turning to face his son, ignoring the being’s attempts at platitudes. 

Little One’s eyebrows furrowed together, obviously picking up on the tension in the room that hadn’t been there seconds earlier. A nervous hand came up to tug Larry out of his resting place and gently moved him to the giant pocket on the front of his overalls. Little One began to pet the duckling softly as he looked between Voldemort and the being. 

“See him, Papa?” Little One said finally, his emerald eyes shining with hesitance. 

“Yes dear heart,” Voldemort said gently, not wanting to frighten his son, but firmly enough to demand more answers. “Can you see this… man?”

“ **Not a man**.”

“Be _silent_.” Voldemort hissed, his eyes not leaving Little One’s figure. “Who do you see?”

“It… he Death, Papa,” Little One said, frowning when Voldemort sucked in a sharp breath. “Papa sad?” 

“No darling, Papa’s not sad,” Voldemort said softly. _Having a crisis, possibly_. “Darling, be a love and go find Nagini, will you? Stay with her for a while. Papa…” Voldemort risked a glance behind him at the being. “Papa needs to talk to… _Death_.” 

Little One sent one last confused glance between the two of them before he nodded and turned around, off to find Nagini. As soon as Voldemort heard the heavy doors click shut, Voldemort spun around to face the being. The being was no longer leaning against his throne, choosing instead to stand in front of him. Voldemort met the being’s glowing eyes head-on. 

“Death?” he said, after a long moment of staring. The being shifted and Voldemort had to bite back a smirk at the obvious discomfort. 

“ **Yes.** ” he said, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. “ **I am that which can never age nor die, but shall exist so long as things grow and change. I am Death.** ” 

Voldemort nodded, ignoring the sudden chill that swept through the room. Death. The being that had been following him around, pestering him for piggy-back rides, snarkily responding to all of his meetings, the being that had _slept_ beside him… 

Voldemort sucked in another sharp breath. “Why are you here?” he demanded, refusing to cower, despite the fear that began to creep inside him. 

The being--- _Death_ looked impossibly fond. “ **You are my friend**.” 

“You are Death,” Voldemort said stiffly. “I have conquered you. Aren’t you here to… _take_ me?” 

The look that Death leveled him with sent shivers rushing down his spine. Death’s eyes seemed to glow, a strangely heated look freezing him in place. Voldemort could feel the tension spike, and he didn’t know why. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Death laughed. “ **None shall conquer me, my Dear, not even my dearest Master. All shall befall my hand**.” 

Voldemort frowned. “My Horcruxes?” 

“ **Temporary, I assure you** ,” Death said with a grin. “ **Meant to give you no more than a thousand years at best. Merely prolonging the inevitable.** ” 

“Then why are you here?” Voldemort asked. 

“ **Did you not ask already?** ” Death said, shaking his head slightly. “ **You are my friend**.”

“How? How can I be your friend? You are _Death_! That doesn’t… It doesn’t make sense! Why would you be my friend? You must have an ulterior motive!” Voldemort said harshly, glaring at the bemused being. 

“ **Must I**?” he asked, and Voldemort was sure he heard fondness in the question. It set him on edge, causing him to grit his teeth. “ **Is it so hard to believe that I wish us to be friends**?”

“Yes,” Voldemort said firmly. “What use do you have for friends? If what you say is true, I will die eventually.” 

“ **And why should that mean we can no longer be friends**?” Death asked. 

“What? Because I’ll be dead!” Voldemort exclaimed. “You can’t be friends with dead people!”

“ **Really? I am quite good friends with Merlin, though. We sit for a game of chess every few centuries** ,” Death said cheekily. Voldemort huffed, blaming his undignified behavior on his frustration. “ **Just because you are dead, does not mean that you cease to exist**.” 

“That’s the literal definition!” 

“ **No, that is the _mortal_ definition**,” Death corrected. “ **Mortals assume there is nothing after death because they have no way of proving it. That does not mean it does not exist**.”

“Are you telling me there’s an afterlife?” Voldemort scoffed. Death hummed, moving once more to sit down on the grand stone throne. 

“ **Of sorts** ,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “ **There is no heaven and hell in the traditional sense. There is a resting place where souls go to be in peace before they are born once more.** ” 

Voldemort freezes. “Reincarnation is real?” 

“ **Souls are quite difficult to make, you know** ,” Death said, matter-of-factly. “ **They require quite a bit of energy and effort to create. It is far easier to recycle souls than it is to create new ones**.” 

“Is everyone reincarnated? Have... Have I been reincarnated?” Voldemort asks, the desire for knowledge overpowering his wariness for a moment. Death seemed to enjoy Voldemort’s enthusiasm, though, as he leaned forward to get closer to Voldemort’s rigid figure. 

“ **Souls may only be reincarnated if they wish it** ,” Death said. “ **There is a final resting place where souls can finally be at peace, should they choose it. However, more often than not, souls choose to be reincarnated. As for your soul…** ” 

Voldemort frowned when Death smiled at him, suddenly feeling naked under the intense gaze. “What?” Voldemort snapped, fighting back the rising heat in his cheeks. 

“ **You were not reincarnated** ,” Death spoke, ignoring Voldemort’s obvious discomfort. “ **You are a new soul, one of the newest souls made. There is only one other soul that was born after you. You were created with a specific purpose, unlike all of the other recycled souls**.” 

Voldemort frowned. There were so many things he wanted to ask now, the answer only giving him more questions. “A specific purpose? What do you mean?” 

“ **Soon, my Dear** ,” Death said with a wave of his hand. Though it wasn’t an outright dismissal, it still angered Voldemort. He was so done with these vague answers. “ **As for the youngest soul… It was brought to me too soon, but taken back just as fast**.”

There was a melancholy expression on the figure’s face, one filled with longing and grief. The emotion was so strong that it stopped Voldemort for a second and had he been moving, Voldemort was sure he would’ve staggered back. Just as quickly as the emotion had come, it was gone. 

“What… what happened?” Voldemort asked, unsure of how to proceed. Death’s eyes flitted up to Voldemort’s face for a second before they moved back to their position on the floor. 

“ **The soul was brought back to the plain of the living, forever sealing it in Lady Magic’s realm** ,” Death said softly. It was the first time Voldemort had ever heard the being sound so upset. “ **The soul has been lost to me, and it is nearly impossible to retrieve it. Whole, at least**.” 

Voldemort frowned. “It was… brought back, you say?” Pieces began to click in his mind. Voldemort frowned, and suddenly, he wasn’t happy with the picture that was beginning to form. “You said… earlier, you said that I… that I took something from you.” 

“ **Yes**.”

“That I _stole_ your Master from you,” Voldemort continued, his crimson eyes narrowing. “This soul… the soul that was brought back…”

“ **The soul belonged to that of my Master, yes** ,” Death said. “ **The soul was crafted perfectly to become my Master, my Dear Sister ensured that no matter what happened, the soul would become my Master so that I would no longer be alone**.” 

“But then your Master was… brought… back…” Voldemort froze, his entire body turning to stone. Suddenly, the fear that had been ebbing away was back full-force, and the sheer terror that gripped him nearly sent him to his knees. 

Death stood, and Voldemort stumbled back, his hand instantly gripping his wand. “ **Darling** \---”

“I won’t let you have him!” Voldemort snarled, his crimson eyes locked on the figure in front of him. “That’s _my_ son! You can’t take him! I won’t let you!”

“ **He was my Master before he was your son** ,” Death said firmly, his eyebrows drawing down into a glare. “ **You took him from me first**.” 

“So that’s why you’re here?” Voldemort demanded, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Befriend me so that you can steal my son right under my nose? I will stop you! I won’t let you take my son away from me!” 

“ **Peace** ,” Death said slowly, holding up his hands. “ **I could not take him from you even if I wanted to. The ritual you performed on him ensured it.** ” 

Refusing to drop his guard, Voldemort eyed his warily. “Explain.” 

“ **When young Harry Potter died and crossed over, I stood there watching, waiting to welcome him to my domain**.” Death said softly, and Voldemort grit his teeth at the longing expression on Death’s face as he spoke of Little One. “ **He was with me long enough for me to introduce him. Long enough for me to embrace him. That is why he recognized me, I believe. Then you performed the ritual and you stole his soul back, sealing it the land of the living through olde magics. The ritual prevents me from taking his soul in the traditional sense**.

“ **The ritual you used trapped young Harry Potter’s soul inside his body, preserving the body and sustaining the corpse with magic. In doing so, a magical barrier is created around the soul trapped inside. The barrier locks the soul inside the body, acting as the tether that living souls use to remain inside their own bodies. Without magic, the barrier would slowly disintegrate, and the soul would have no way of staying inside the body**.”

“I have several inferi that I do not maintain,” Voldemort interrupted. “When I check on them every few years, they are still functional.” 

“ **Yes, but the soul that you originally trapped inside has escaped, leaving only an echo behind. The echo is strong enough to maintain minimum control over the facilities of the body, but there is no independent thought left, leaving them mindless puppets** ,” Death explained. “ **Their soul has crossed over to my realm, but the soul is no longer whole. The echo left behind was created by the lack of tether, and the ritual’s desire to hold the soul and body together. The soul cannot stay, but it cannot leave either. So to compensate, the soul leaves behind a piece of itself**.”

“The echo?” 

Death nodded. “ **That is why the soul is lost to me. Without a whole soul, the soul is unable to reach the final resting place, nor can it be reincarnated. And so the soul sits in limbo for eternity.** ”

“Can’t you… I don’t know, take the echo and put the soul back together?” Voldemort asks. Death shakes his head. 

“ **The only way to retrieve the echo is if the body the echo is trapped in is destroyed. However, fiendfyre does not just destroy the body** \---”

“It destroys the echo too,” Voldemort says softly. Death nods his head once more, despair flashing through his eyes. “The soul can never be whole, and you can never take it.” 

“ **The moment you brought Harry Potter back to life, his soul was lost to me**.” Death said glumly. 

“I thought you said his path was designed to always lead back to you?” Voldemort said with a frown. “What changed?”

“ **You did** ,” Death said, finally looking up at him. “ **You somehow changed my Dear Sister’s plans entirely. I do not know how you did it, but you somehow changed Fate**.” 

“So… what does this mean?” Voldemort asked, his wariness returning. “I’ve ruined your only chance at having a Master. You are doomed to be lonely once more. Do you intend to kill me?” 

“ **That, my Dear, is where you are wrong** ,” Death said, standing once again. Voldemort stepped back, frowning in confusion. “ **I will never be lonely so long as I have you. My Master will not be lost to me so long as he remains in the Land of the Living**.” 

“I don’t understand,” Voldemort said warily. “What do I have to do with anything?”

Death stepped forward until he was standing in front of Voldemort’s rigid form. He let his forehead rest against Voldemort’s, and Voldemort’s breath hitched in the back of his throat. A hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Voldemort cannot help the redness that creeps onto his face when Death brushes his thumb against his cheekbone. 

“ **He may be my Master… but you… _you_ were created to be my companion**.”

* * *

“We have to talk about this, you know.” Remus says, sitting next to him. Sirius just groans, letting his head fall back against the plush cushions of the sofa they sat on. They had finally finished their training, and though they were still confined to the Dark Lord’s castle, they were finally, allowed to relax. Sirius took that to heart, as he went in search of the comfiest furniture he could find. 

It had been… awkward these past few days, to say the least. After the confrontation in the hall with Snape, the couple wasn’t sure how to proceed. Sirius wanted to apologize again, keep apologizing until Snape accepted. Remus disagreed, saying that Snape needed space. 

So space was given. Despite Sirius’ desire to, they did not approach Snape outside of training, and whenever they saw each other in the hall, Remus would drag Sirius away from him in the opposite direction. 

“What if we just sat here and slept instead?” Sirius suggested, brushing his hand back and forth against the sofa as if to demonstrate how nice it was. Remus just rolled his eyes. 

“We can do that _after_ we discuss what’s going on.” Remus said, shifting so that he was facing Sirius. 

“What? What’s going on?” Sirius asked, exaggeratedly looking around. 

“Sirius.” 

Sirius let out a huff. “What do you want to talk about? The confrontation? The apology? Snape?” 

“All of it, preferably,” Remus said. “But let’s start with the confrontation. Wanna explain what happened back there?” 

“I apologized to him! He didn’t accept it. What more is there to talk about?” Sirius demanded. His answer was a deadpan stare. Sirius sighed, a hand coming up to drag through his long curly hair. 

“Why don’t we talk about _why_?” Remus asked. “I mean, I’ve been telling you to apologize to him for ages but you never wanted to. What changed your mind?” 

Sirius sighed, his onyx eyes trailing down to his hands clenched into fists on his lap. “I don’t know… it… It was sudden. I don’t know why I wanted to, but I just saw him and I… I just wanted to.”

Remus nodded, his lips pursed in thought. “Those things he said… about the past.” 

“It’s true,” Sirius said stiffly, unconsciously tightening his fists. “What we did to him… I don’t even know why we did it, too. Looking back it all just seems so stupid. We were just kids, but it didn’t really stop when we grew up either.” 

“Making amends will be difficult.” Remus said softly. “Especially if you don’t know why you’re making amends.” 

“How did you do it?” Sirius asked, looking at his lover suddenly. “You and Snape, I mean.” 

“How did I make amends?” Remus asked. Sirius nodded, and Remus sighed, looking off into the distance. “I didn’t really. I never _apologized_ to him about the stuff that happened during school. But I also never actively sought him out. I was more of a bystander, but even then, I should’ve spoken up. I think treating him with respect, even when he didn’t return the favor, was enough.” 

Sirius suddenly let out a loud yell and slammed his head back into the cushions, causing Remus to jump beside him. “Why is this so difficult?!” 

“What on Earth is going on out here?”

Sirius looked up to see Narcissa looming over them. Her face was drawn into a pinched glare, but even then, she maintained a careful disinterest. Sirius grinned. “Hello, Cissy.” Sirius said, lifting a hand to wave. 

“I could hear you from the drawing-room,” Narcissa said in response. “Is there a problem?” 

“Snape.” Sirius says with a frown. “He’s… I don’t know. Everything is weird.” 

“Boy problems?” Narcissa asks with a raised brow. Sirius scoffed. 

“We’re not sixteen, Cissy,” he said. “This isn’t a romance problem.”

“Isn’t it?” Narcissa asked, moving around the sofa to sit in the armchair next to them. “You are sitting here, lamenting to your lover about another man. A man, may I add, that you have been pulling the proverbial pigtails of for several years now.” 

Sirius sputtered. “Excuse me?!”

Narcissa sighed and sent a knowing glance to Remus, who nodded in return. “Sirius, you are still impossibly slow. Even your partner figured it out before you.” 

“Figure what out?!”

“You are attracted to him.” Narcissa said simply, ignoring the way Sirius froze. Sirius stares at his cousin for a long time, his wide eyes never straying from her deadpanned expression before he lets a harsh breath of air escape his lungs. He feels his lover gently press against his shoulder. 

“Siri?” he asks softly, trading nervous glances with Narcissa. 

Finally, Sirius speaks. “I’m attracted to _Snivellus_! Oh, Merlin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so everything in this chapter is super important to the plot. I don't mean to be all, 'Pay attention because foreshadowing' but... ~~pay attention because foreshadowing.~~ Finally Sirius figured it out!!! He's so oblivious, lol. And so the relationship wheels are finally turning! 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Best of Gifts written by CastielFollowMe  
> So this is the first part of a series called 'Single Dad Shiro Verse' and honestly, this whole series is adorable! This is a Voltron fic where Shiro is a single dad trying to raise his son Keith. It's a fantastic read (though, a little long) and if you haven't read it, I seriously recommend it!   
> \---------------------  
> Narcissa: Is this necessary?  
> Remus: Just let him  
> Remus: He'll get over it eventually.   
> Sirius: *continues to hyperventilate into a paper bag*


	41. 39: The Guardian's Task

_**-November 30, 1991-**_  
“I can’t believe they expect us to stay awake in that class,” Theo complained loudly as he walked through the halls of Hogwarts. Beside him, Draco marched with a similar expression on his face. “I mean, seriously! People don’t even call it ‘Magical History’ anymore! People just refer to it as ‘Naptime’.”

Draco chuckled. “Binns is ancient. I wonder, do you think he was this dull when he was alive?” 

“Probably,” Blaise chimed in, knocking shoulders with Draco. “I asked Mama about him, and she said he was dead while she was in school.” 

“No one knows how old he really is,” Pansy explained, placing a marker in her book. “I heard he just died in the teacher’s lounge, got up and went to class---didn’t even realize that he was a ghost.” 

“Do you think he knows he’s dead?” Theo asked, a slow grin sliding onto his face. 

“I hope so,” Blaise said with a frown. “Could you imagine the shock he’d go through if someone told him he was dead?” 

“Maybe he’d finally go to the ‘Great Beyond’.” Draco said, a mocking tone filling his voice as he quoted the headmaster. 

Theo snorted and shook his head. Draco and the rest of his friends laughed along with him as they walked to the Great Hall for dinner. As they sat down for the feast, Draco couldn’t help but think about how fantastic life had been recently. 

Little One was doing much better according to his mother, who swore up and down that Little One was smiling and handing out flowers again. It made him feel better, and the nightmares of finding Little One laying in his own blood were finally going away. School was easy and Draco was having no trouble keeping up. Not to mention, his friends were getting along great, and Draco was getting closer and closer to Theo. 

It felt like nothing could ruin his day. 

So of course something came along to ruin it, because it was Draco’s own fault for jinxing it. 

It started as he was getting ready for bed. The dorms seemed unnaturally cold that night, and as Draco was changing into his pajamas, his skin broke out into uncomfortable goose flesh. He shivered as he crawled under the covers of his bed. 

As he closed his eyes and fell asleep, he could’ve sworn he saw something flash through his room. 

He instantly recognized the blank nothingness of his dream, and he shivered. It was the same nothingness, the only difference was that this time, the nothingness wasn’t dark. It was impossibly bright. This was the nothingness he was trapped in during the Sahamian ritual. He looked around, his gray eyes squinting as they tried to find the mysterious being that Draco knew was there. 

His breath comes out in a sharp mist, and Draco feels the cold smother him. “Where are you?” Draco asked, his teeth chattering. “Why am I here?” 

He can feel the presence now, that overwhelming feeling of power. It brushes up against his back and sends shivers down his spine. When it speaks, Draco hears hundreds of voices overlap on top of it. The voice sets him on edge and causes him to grit his teeth. 

“ **Hello Guardian**.” it says. 

“Why do you call me that? Who are you?” Draco demanded, spinning around in the hopes of seeing the mysterious being, only to be greeted with more nothingness. 

“ **Your task has been set, young Guardian** ,” it told him. “ **I bid you fulfill it.** ” 

“I don’t know what that means!” Draco cried. “What are you talking about? What are you?” 

“ **Your task has been set** ,” it repeats, and Draco is struck with the urge to pull his hair out. It was so frustrating to talk in circles with the being. He didn’t know what was going on, and it was driving him crazy. “ **Protect the Master**.”

“Who is the Master?” Draco asked. “What’s going on?”

“ **Protect the Master from the fatal harm that seeks him** ,” the being said. “ **You will feel it when it happens. Do what you must**.” 

“Why do you keep seeking me out? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco insisted. “Who is this Master?” 

“ **Hurry, young Guardian** ,” it said, and the urgency in it’s tone filled Draco with anxious dread. “ **Protect the Master, your brother in arms prays for you**.”

“Who are you?” Draco cried. 

“ **Your task has been set** ,” it told him, the voice softer now. “ **Protect the Master. Your time is running out**.” 

“What---”

Draco sat up in his bed, a harsh gasp escaping his lips as he shivered. He looked around his room, his eyes wide as they searched for the being that haunted him. He saw nothing but his sleeping dorm mates. His bed curtains gently swayed to the nonexistent breeze. 

Draco gently rubbed his arms, hoping to heat up his chilled body and get rid of the borderline painful goose flesh. He waited until his heart no longer felt like it was trying to escape his chest to lay back down on his bed. 

That was the second time he was visited by the mysterious being, however this time, the being spoke to him. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought, shifting onto his side and snuggling closer to his pillow. What did the being mean? 

Why did it keep calling him a guardian? And who was this supposed ‘Master’? It was all so confusing. The being mentioned he had a brother in arms, but as far as Draco knew, he was an only child. The only person he considered to be a brother was Little One, but there was no way he was in danger. The Dark Lord was even more protective of the child than before after the recent kidnapping. 

Draco slowly succumbed to sleep, his mind repeating the being’s strange words over and over again until he knew nothing but blissful oblivion. 

On the table next to him, the flowers his mother sent him via Little One bloomed under the pale moonlight.

* * *

Voldemort stared at his half-drank glass of firewhiskey, a frown set deep into his face. It had been two days since Voldemort had seen the irritating being that had squeezed his way into his routine. _Death_ , his mind supplied. His hands clenched, and Voldemort quickly brought the glass up to his mouth for the numbing burn. 

The being was Death. And apparently, his child was the entity’s master. As disturbing as the thought was---the idea that his precious little child, so innocent and accepting, could be the sole Master of Death himself---it didn’t set him on edge nearly as much as the other revelation did. 

According to Death, Voldemort was created for him as well, albeit in a different way. Voldemort could still remember the way the being had stepped so close to him. Could still feel the heat of the being’s hand as it brushed across his cheekbone, in an almost _loving_ gesture. Could still remember the words the being spoke, so close that he could feel his breath tickling his lips. 

Could still remember the tender look in his eyes as Death spoke, “ **You _were created to be my companion_**.” 

Voldemort slammed back another drink, blaming his flushed face on the drink coursing through him. 

How dare the being come into his home and mess everything up. Who cares if he was a divine entity? Voldemort was a bloody Dark Lord and he was doing _just fine_ before he showed up. He didn’t need Death coming here and changing everything. 

Voldemort grit his teeth as he stood, ignoring the slight dizziness. He may have had more to drink than he had in a while, but Voldemort was still sober enough to pace. As he moved back and forth through his study, his eyes kept drifting to places where the being usually resided. _Not_ in the hopes that he would be there, mind, but because Voldemort didn’t want to be surprised should Death show up. 

Voldemort forced a harsh breath through his nose as he leaned against the wall. Everything in the room reminded him of Death, and it was beginning to be counterproductive. Unbidden, an image of Death sprawled out on the armchair came to mind. The being was so childish sometimes, that Voldemort would have a hard time connecting him to Death, the all-powerful entity. 

It all seemed so unrealistic. How could a divine being lower itself to mortals? Had it been Voldemort, he would’ve scoffed at the idea of being in a relationship with someone so far beneath him. 

Not that he had much experience with relationships in the first place. It wasn’t that Voldemort was untouched---he had had plenty of sex, as he knew exactly how to use his looks to get what he needed. But it was just that. A transaction. Voldemort had never felt an ounce of romantic inklings to anyone. To be honest, Voldemort always thought of such a thing as disgusting. 

Love was such a weakness to hold, and no matter what anyone said, Voldemort held no interest in it. The only love that Voldemort allowed to bloom was the parental love he felt for his son. Voldemort could freely admit that the love he felt for Little One was a weakness, one that had been taken advantage of before, but Voldemort didn’t particularly care. 

At first, the love he felt for Little One was purely planned. That was back when he was alive, and it served a purpose. Voldemort needed an heir, and adopting an abused magical child would gain him popularity with the light side, who would see him as something other than a monster. It would also allow him to have a magical heir without sinking low enough to pursue a relationship with anyone. 

It was a win-win situation. 

Somewhere along the way, though, Voldemort grew to genuinely care for the child. For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle the Orphan and the Dark Lord Voldemort had the one thing they craved: a family. Voldemort could freely admit that he was a possessive person, a habit born from the harsh days of the orphanage where he learned to hold on to everything precious to him, lest it be taken from him. So when he finally had a family, his possessiveness took hold, and Voldemort refused to lose Harry Potter, soon to be Hadrian Salazar Gaunt-Slytherin. 

That’s why, when Voldemort arrived that horrid day to see his son dead at the hands of those monstrous muggles, he performed the ritual that would ensure his son stayed with him forever. After all, immortality was boring when one was alone. As long as Voldemort supplied Little One with magic, his child would stay frozen forever, with the added bonus of having a tether attached to his magical core. While he wasn’t able to track Little One with it, the tether allowed Voldemort to gauge how much magic Little One currently had, and if he was ever killed, Voldemort would instantly know as the tether would detach. 

Voldemort was content with his son to cure his loneliness. He had no need for any partner as his son was always there for him. He doubted he was even capable of holding a successful relationship. There were too many things that would go wrong. He was far too possessive and controlling, and he didn’t know how to show affection. 

Perhaps that was why Voldemort was so unsettled by the being’s statement. There was not a single person alive who had not questioned their purpose, the reason why they were born. He had often wondered if the reason he was born was to fix Magical Britain. To find out that his sole purpose was not to rule Britain as he thought, but to be the companion to an immortal entity was quite jarring. 

He didn’t even know what being Death’s _companion_ entailed. He could infer, however, from the clinginess and overly tactile movements, that being wished it to be something more romantic than platonic.

Voldemort didn’t know where to begin with that. 

Voldemort sighed, looking down at his now empty glass of firewhiskey mournfully. Voldemort wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to be the being’s companion. Did he even have a choice? Death seemed very sure that Voldemort would pick him, but Voldemort wasn’t sure if he liked the thought of being a companion to Death.

A memory of waking up in Death’s arms flashed into his mind, and Voldemort fought back a smile. The feeling of security and comfort he felt when he awoke that morning was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Voldemort wouldn’t mind that happening again, however, that didn’t mean he wanted a relationship. He could freely admit he was touch starved---had been since he was a child. Any form of comforting physical affection was overly pleasant to him, but that didn’t mean anything. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the being’s company, either. Actually, Voldemort found the being’s presence to be something of a comfort. After he got over the annoyance, Death was actually quite helpful when it came to research, and he provided quite a bit of entertainment, especially during boring meetings. 

He… He actually…. 

Voldemort clenched his fists and stood up suddenly, shaking the half-finished thought from his head. He refused to admit that he actually enjoyed Death’s friendship. Voldemort was the Dark Lord, ruler of the Magical Republic of the British Isles. He was above something as plebeian as _friendship_. He sneered just thinking about it. 

He wandlessly tidied up his office, sending his empty glass to the kitchens where the house-elves would clean it. When he was finished, he silently made his way to his bedroom, opening the door and breathing in deeply. He quickly went through his nightly rituals and got ready for bed. 

He was in the process of putting on his nightshirt when the door to his room opened. He whipped his head back to the door instantly, and the rush of contradicting emotions that he felt when he saw Little One standing at his threshold made his head spin. 

“Sleep wif’ Papa?” Little One asked in a hushed whisper, his head tilted adorably to the side. Whenever he did that, Voldemort was reminded of a puppy. Voldemort smiled fondly at his child and nodded, flipping the covers back so that the toddler could climb into his bed. 

He frowned, however, when he caught sight of a stowaway. “Darling,” Voldemort chastised softly. “Larry has his own bed.” And he did, Voldemort had transfigured it himself, so there was no reason the duckling should be nestled in his son’s arms as he tried to climb into bed one-handed. 

“Scary, Papa.” Little One answered, explaining why Larry had to sleep with them. “Safe wif’ Papa.” 

Voldemort just sighed. He could argue with his son about the reasons why a duckling should not be sleeping in his bed, but he was too tired. He was emotionally exhausted, and all he wanted to do was curl up with his son and sleep. If he had to suffer with a mangy duck to do it, he would. 

As Little One settled into the sheets, Voldemort reached out to pull the pliant toddler closer to him. Little One just let out a happy sigh and nuzzled closer to his chest. Voldemort could feel when the Inferius dropped off to sleep, his breaths had evened out, and all of his muscles had relaxed fully into Voldemort’s hold. 

Voldemort was still awake, an hour later, his mind refusing to shut off. Why had he reacted the way he did when he saw Little One? He felt a rush of relief at the sight of his son but disappointment sat heavily in his stomach. In the safety of the darkness, he could admit to himself that he was disappointed it wasn’t Death, but relieved at the same time. 

Why did he feel like this? 

Sure, it had been two days since he’d seen the entity, but Death was fond of dropping off into nowhere and leaving for days. Besides, Voldemort had been just fine before he showed up, so he was just fine while he was gone. 

And yet… 

Somehow, Death had managed to work his way into Voldemort’s routine, to the point where it was strange without him there. Voldemort almost felt off-kilter. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. Voldemort sighed and dropped his face into Little One’s inky curls, breathing in the scent of his son. 

Voldemort… Voldemort supposed that maybe---just maybe---he missed him. Just a little bit. Without the snarky being’s comments, meetings were dull and seemed to drag on and on. His office and study felt ridiculously large without Death there to fill in the empty space. If he suppressed his pride and embarrassment, Voldemort could feel small tendrils of longing for the entity inside him. 

Yes, Voldemort couldn’t really deny it anymore, he enjoyed Death’s friendship. It was refreshing to have someone want to be his friends with no ulterior motive. Sure, Death wanted something more, but he wasn’t using Voldemort for his power nor his status. 

Voldemort had never had a true friend before. He was hated in the orphanage, ignored then feared and worshipped in Hogwarts, and the feeling continued into adulthood. But never, not once, had he had a true friendship with another soul. It was strange but in a good way. Voldemort didn’t want to lose it. 

Perhaps that was why he was wary about Death’s intentions. Should he agree and the pair of them pursue a relationship, Voldemort would ruin it. He couldn’t control his possessive and controlling nature, and somehow, controlling your partners every move and flying into a jealous rage whenever they weren’t with you didn’t seem like a healthy relationship. 

If he ruined the relationship, would he lose the friendship?

It all seemed so menial. Voldemort was above such childish insecurities, and yet here he was, mulling over it while he can’t sleep like a teenage girl. He was the Dark Lord for merlin’s sake! He could do whatever he wanted, have whatever he wanted. If he wanted Death’s friendship then he would have it. 

If he wanted more… 

Voldemort would allow Death to stay. Let their friendship grow, let Death grow closer to him. If Death wanted more that was his problem. Voldemort wanted Death’s friendship, nothing more. He wasn’t a coward. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall into a relationship with the being, not at the risk of his friendship. That was playing it smart, not safe. 

With his decision finally made, Voldemort found himself falling asleep quickly. With the feeling of his son safely tucked in his arms, and the comforting warmth of his bed, Voldemort was asleep mere minutes later. 

As he sleeps, the shadows converge into a figure, and Death stands over the sleeping pair, a fond smile spread across his face. He reaches out to card his fingers gently through his Master’s soft hair before lightly caressing his companion’s peaceful face. 

“ **My family** ,” he whispers. “ **Mine**.” 

Voldemort shifts in his sleep and Death kisses his temple, settling the Dark Lord into a peaceful sleep. He sends one last look at the two most important people in his life slumbering peacefully and smiles before he disappears into nothing but a slight breeze by the closed window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh.... so peaceful... it would be such a shame if something were to come along and... ruin it... 
> 
> ~~Hahaha~~
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Leon and the Servant written by Smcstrav   
> This is a really great Merlin ff where we get a look at the kind of shit Merlin has to deal with being a servant. It has the angst we all love and crave as well a protective but oblivious Arthur and justice being served!!!! Go check it out, it's a really great read! (I was literally sobbing my eyes out when I read this fic)  
> \-----------------  
> Voldemort: I don't care  
> Voldemort: I just don't want to ruin our friendship  
> Voldemort: Stop looking at me like that, I just said I _don't_ care!  
> Voldemort: How would _you_ feel if you were in my situation?!  
> Larry: *Quack*  
> Voldemort: Thank you.   
> Larry: *Quack quack*  
> Voldemort: I am _NOT BEING RIDICOULOUS_ \---


	42. 40: And So it Begins...

_**-November 31, 1991-**_  
When Voldemort woke up the next morning, he felt strangely well-rested. He could hear Little One’s soft snores next to him, and he turned his head to smile at his slumbering child. Little One looked peaceful in his sleep, his inky black hair sprawled out on the pillow in tangles, a small bit of drool lining his cheek as his mouth opened and closed with each breath. Voldemort’s eyes crinkled fondly at the sight, and he lightly carded his fingers through his son’s hair. He paused, however, when his fingers hit something fluffy. With a sigh, Voldemort removed Larry from his perch and set the duckling on the ground. Larry quacked at him, obviously unhappy with the change of scenery, but Voldemort merely sneered at him.

Unfortunately, the noise awoke his precious, and Little One rubbed his eyes with his fist, smearing the drool all over his cheeks, and opened his eyes. Still lethargic from sleep, Little One held out his arms in an adorable fashion and Voldemort obliged, lifting the sleepy toddler into his lap. 

“Good morning, dear heart,” Voldemort whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s temple. “How did you sleep?” 

Little One didn’t speak, choosing instead to rub his face into Voldemort’s collarbones and let out a tiny whine. Voldemort chuckled and gently rubbed his hand over Little One’s back, soothing the sleepy child back to sleep. Voldemort set Little One back on the bed for a moment to get changed into his clothes before he lifted Little One back into his arms, rousing the child from his short-lived nap. 

“Come now, dear,” Voldemort said, walking towards the kitchens. “It’s time to wake up. Narcissa will be here to watch you, as I have a number of meetings today.” 

Little One perked up at the mention of Narcissa, his emerald eyes widening with childish glee as he began to absentmindedly chew on his fingers. Voldemort sighed and removed his son’s unwashed hand from his mouth, cringing at the number of germs his child no doubt ingested. 

It wasn’t until Voldemort had placed Little One in his chair and placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of him, did Little One speak. “Larry?” he asked in a hushed whisper, his hand reaching forward to grab a spoon. 

“Hmm? Did you say something dear?” Voldemort asked, feigning ignorance. Perhaps, if he was careful, he could play off the missing duck and make it seem like the thing had wandered off in the night time, never to be seen again. “I’m afraid I didn’t see him when we woke up this morning.” 

Little One’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly as he looked back at his breakfast despondently. “Oh.” 

While the sadness his child emitted was concerning, Voldemort knew, in the long run, it would be better. After all, Little One had a nasty habit of adopting animals that never stayed long, and he always got over it after a while. Sooner or later Voldemort would finally be rid of the duckling that had wormed its way into his precious’ heart. 

“I’m sorry darling,” Voldemort responded, lightly patting Little One’s head. “I’m sure wherever he went, he’s happy now. You know wild ducks aren’t meant to be domesticated---”

_Quack quack_. 

Voldemort’s face twitched while his child let out an excited gasp at the noise. While Voldemort had been celebrating his victory, Larry had somehow managed to waddle his way from Voldemort’s bedroom to the kitchen. An impressive feat for a handicapped duckling, he could admit, but frustrating nonetheless. He had been so close… 

“Larry home, Papa!” Little One exclaimed happily, squirming in his chair as he attempted to get close enough to the floor to lift Larry up. Voldemort let out a resigned sigh. 

“Wonderful.” he said dryly. He bent down and tried to hide the grimace on his face as he lifted the mangy thing and placed him on the chair next to him. “Larry will have to wait patiently until breakfast is over, I’m afraid. No ducks on the table.” 

Little One pouted but complied, quickly shoving in mouthfuls of oatmeal at a time. He somehow managed to eat a good third of the bowl, the rest of it landing on the table, floor, and Little One’s clothes. When the bowl was empty Little One smiled widely and held it out, as if to say ‘ _See? All done_ ’. 

“There, wasn’t that delicious? Hmm, you’re all messy now. Perhaps Narcissa can give you a bath while Larry plays… outside? After all, you wouldn’t want to get him messy.” Voldemort suggested, smiling at his child and taking every chance to glare at the duckling when his son wasn’t looking. 

“Silly Papa,” Little One said, shaking his head. “Larry likes water. We take bath together.” 

Voldemort sighed, and relented, knowing that he lost this round. He let Little One out of the highchair, and the second his little feet hit the ground, he was running over to Larry to pick him up and place him in his hair. Larry, as if sensing Voldemort’s displeasure, turned his head to quack at him. 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the sight of what looked like a smirk on Larry’s face. _You may have won the battle, Larry_ , Voldemort thought venomously, _but I will win this war_! 

A house-elf popped into the kitchen then, bowing in front of Voldemort. “Mistress Narcissa be here My Lord.” the elf said, bowing low enough that the disproportionately large ears dragged against the floor. 

“Please show her into the kitchen.” Voldemort said, waving his hand to dismiss the elf. “Little One, Narcissa is here. You’ll be good for her, yes?” 

Little One nodded, and Voldemort watched with smug satisfaction as the motion caused Larry to bounce on his head. A few seconds later, Narcissa walked into the kitchen, her face masked with cool indifference. She wore a beautiful, but functional dress and her heels clicked against the stone tiles. She bowed respectfully at Voldemort before she turned to face Little One, her mask breaking to display a bright smile. 

“Hello Little One,” Narcissa cooed. “I’ve missed you. It’s been so long since we played together. I see you’ve made a new friend?” 

Little One nodded, his hand reaching up to nervously pet the duckling on his head. “Yes, my precious has decided to adopt a duckling. Larry is his name.” Voldemort said, not bothering to hide his disdain for the animal, knowing full well that Little One wouldn’t be able to pick up on it. 

Narcissa, however, easily picked up on Voldemort’s true feelings. She didn’t say anything about it, but Voldemort could see the faintest shine of amusement in her silver eyes. “Hello Larry,” she said, kneeling to look at the duckling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Her efforts were rewarded with a shy smile from Little One. The smile set Voldemort at ease, any remaining hesitance at letting someone else watch the inferius disappearing. This would be the first time someone other than Voldemort or Nagini would watch Little One since the kidnapping. Sure, the two new recruits watched him, but in reality, Nagini was supervising their playdate. 

While Nagini would be hanging around the castle today, Narcissa was in charge of keeping Little One safe, and Voldemort knew his familiar intended to hunt today. With Little One so at ease around Narcissa, Voldemort was convinced that this was a good idea. 

“Alright then,” Voldemort said, drawing attention back to himself. “I’ll be off now.” He walked over to Little One and pressed a kiss to his son’s cheek, embracing him tightly for a quick second, before addressing Narcissa. “I know there won’t be any problems.” The subtle threat was received, and Narcissa merely nodded her head and bowed. 

“Of course, My Lord.” she said. 

“Good.” Voldemort said curtly, before his voice softened. “Goodbye, dearest. Be good. I will see you soon.” 

Little One gave him a shy little wave before Narcissa ushered the toddler out the door, off to take a bath and clean the drying oatmeal off his clothes and face. When his child and Narcissa were out of sight, Voldemort summoned an elf and informed him to fetch someone for his first meeting. 

He made his way to the meeting hall, getting himself situated before he heard a knock. “Enter.” Voldemort said curtly, leaning against his stone throne. He watched as the grand doors were pushed open to reveal Severus. 

The dour potion’s master bowed deeply in front of Voldemort before he stood. “My Lord,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “You’ve called for me?” 

“I am aware,” Voldemort drawled, smirking at the slight tightening of Severus’ face. “I’ve called you here to discuss the new recruits. The ones you’ve been training…” 

Voldemort could see a flash of an emotion flit across Severus’ face at the mention of the two recruits, but it was gone too quickly for him to decipher. However, using his deduction, he could infer that it was most likely disgust. Severus held a deep loathing for the couple, and that is why Voldemort deemed it to be the perfect punishment. 

“Yes My Lord,” Severus said. “The recruits have been coming along nicely. They’ve gone through rigorous physical training---”

“And tell me, how good are they at acting?” Voldemort asked, cutting off Severus’ response. 

“Acting, My Lord?” 

“Yes, acting,” Voldemort drawled. “After all, they’re learning from a traitor, I assume you’ve taught them how to hide their loyalties?” 

Severus showed no outward sign of a flinch at the barb, but the darkening of his eyes betrayed his emotions. “They are… adequate, My Lord. I assumed you intended to have them go undercover at the Order, so I have taught them the basics.” 

“Do you think they are ready?” Voldemort asked, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hand. “Do you believe that they can return to the Order and begin gathering intel?” 

“My Lord?”

“Dumbledore has been… quiet lately,” Voldemort said, a sneer spreading across his face at the mention of the damnable headmaster. “It is disconcerting. I believe he is planning something. I want to know what.” 

“I believe they are ready,” Severus answered, a frown marring his emotionless mask. “However, I am also able to gather information---”

“Denied.” Voldemort said with an icy tone. “I have no desire to allow you back into the Order anytime soon. You are still under probation, and as you are still under oath, it is too risky.” 

“Of course, My Lord.” Severus said, nodding his head. 

“Good. You are to inform Black and Lupin of their assignment and get them prepared to leave as soon as possible. I want them back with the Order by December, no later than the third. I don’t know what he is planning, but something tells me we don’t have much time.” Voldemort said. “Dismissed.” 

The second Severus leaves, Voldemort feels the familiar chill that he’d been hoping and dreading to feel. Even though it had only been three days, Voldemort felt like he hadn’t seen the being in years. He turned his head to see Death standing in the corner, his green eyes practically glowing as they met Voldemort’s crimson gaze. 

He was a man again, a tall man with dark brown hair that fell to his chin in curls. Death’s cheekbones were as crisp and sharp as ever, something that seemed to be a pattern in all his forms, (not that Voldemort was looking, or anything.) and Voldemort could see a light, five o’clock shadow covering his face. Voldemort swallowed dryly, and he could practically feel the tension rise. 

“Death.” he said, finally. 

“ **Hello, my Dear** ,” Death said, pushing off the wall to walk over to him in strong strides. “ **How have you been**?”

“Where were you?” Voldemort blurted out, before cursing himself for his impulsive tongue. To save face, he turned his head and crossed his arms. “Not that I care, or anything. I simply mean that you leaving was strange.” 

Voldemort didn’t need to be looking at the entity to know that he was wearing a fond grin. “ **I gave you space, my Dear. You needed time to process, I believe. Was I wrong**?” 

Voldemort frowned. “No. You weren’t.” 

“ **And? Have you processed everything**?” Death asked, moving so that he could meet Voldemort’s face. 

“I have,” Voldemort said, refusing to meet the being’s gaze. “There were quite a few things I needed to process, you know. You sure do know how to drop a bomb.” 

“ **I apologize for any distress, my Dear** ,” Death said, tilting his head in a fashion so similar to Little One, he couldn’t help but smile. “ **It was not my intention**.”

“I am aware,” Voldemort said stiffly, regaining his composure at the reminder. “Which is why I am not cursing you into oblivion right now.”

“ **I’m afraid you wouldn’t do any damage, but I would allow it if it helps you**.” Death said with a grin. Voldemort scoffed. “ **Are you ready to discuss things now, my Dear**?”

“I suppose,” Voldemort said, shifting slightly. He sighed and waved his hand, wandlessly summoning a chair from the ten that lined the walls. “Sit. I can’t speak to you when you’re hovering over me like this.” 

Death smiled again, as if Voldemort’s request was a funny joke, but obliged. The sight of Death sitting in a simple chair made a small smirk spread across his face. “ **What shall we discuss first, my Dear**?”

“You said Little One was your master,” Voldemort said, choosing to address the matter of his son first, rather than opening the can of worms that was their relationship. “You said you didn’t come here to take him from me.” 

“ **Yes**.” 

“Is he still your master?” Voldemort asked, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. “I recall a story that I read once, something that I’m sure I’ve read to Little One. The Tale of the Three Brothers. I assume you’ve heard of it?”

“ **Ah yes, the Peverell brothers** ,” Death said, a smile stretching across his face, drawing Voldemort’s gaze to Death’s sharp jawline. “ **I have not thought of them in many years. I assume you are referring to the Hallows, then**?”

“How can Little One be your master if he never gathered the Deathly Hallows?” Voldemort demanded. “He was just a baby when he was killed. After I brought him back, he stayed with me. He’s never had the chance to master your Hallows.” 

“ **The Hallows were made to ease my loneliness** ,” Death said with a hum. “ **They would grant the holder powers, yes. It would allow them to see and commune with me, and it could grant immortality as well, however it would never be permanent. The second the Hallows were lost, they would return to being a regular mortal. They served as a source of company for me as I awaited my True Master. My True Master would be able to see me and commune with me with or without the Hallows. He would be a true immortal the second he reached maturity**.” 

Voldemort frowned, his eyebrows furrowed in his confusion. “You said his soul was created with the sole intention of being your master. He never needed the Hallows, did he?”

“ **No** ,” Death said, shaking his head. “ **He was created to be mine, just as you were. The Hallows would only give him more power, but they are not necessary**.” 

“And what of me?” Voldemort asked, finally asking the question that had been running around rampant in his head for days. “You said that I was… created to be _yours_. What… what does that mean?”

Death smiled, and his gaze was so impossibly fond that Voldemort forced himself to look away, unable to stomach such a look. “ **My Master was made to give me company. Friendship. But you, my Dear, were created to be my companion. You were made to be mine**.” 

“You already said that---”

“ **You were made to be my partner for eternity. You are destined to be my one true love for the rest of time**.” Death said bluntly. Voldemort froze in place, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at Death. 

While Voldemort had already realized this, it was a shock to hear it put so bluntly. Death, seeming to understand Voldemort’s hesitance, smiled and stood, walking towards him. Voldemort could feel the anticipation building in his gut as the being walked closer to him. Death knelt in front of him, and Voldemort’s breath hitched in the back of his throat. He could feel the entity’s hand cupping his cheek, and Voldemort couldn’t tear his gaze from Death’s. 

“ **I have had centuries to adjust to the idea** ,” he said softly, and Voldemort could feel Death’s breath tickling his cheeks. “ **But this is new to you. I understand, my Dear, if you need more time. I am willing to wait for you. After all, what is a few centuries to a timeless being like me? We can take this at your pace**.” 

Voldemort thought that was oddly considerate of a being that held no knowledge of human culture. Voldemort sucked in a sharp breath, realizing that he’d been staring at Death for far too long now. He knew that the being was expecting an answer, so Voldemort opened his mouth to respond. 

“I…” he trailed off, a mortified blush spreading across his face. “It’s not like I can stop you,” he said, surprising himself with how harsh it sounded. “So… I mean… I guess you can stay around. It’s not like I find your presence annoying.” 

Wow. 

That was the most embarrassing thing Voldemort had said since he introduced himself to the Slytherins in first year. Had he seriously just fumbled his way through that sentence? He was Lord Voldemort, and yet he was incapable of speaking his mind. 

Somehow, though, his message came across, as Death’s smile brightened considerably. He thumbed Voldemort’s cheek a few times before he stood. “ **I am quite happy**.” he said, a soft smile resting on his face. 

Yet somehow, Voldemort doubted that. There was something… off about the being. “What is it?” he demanded, taking smug satisfaction at the sight of Death’s surprised expression. Death had clearly not expected Voldemort to pick up on it. 

“ **Whatever do you mean, my Dear**?” Death asked. Voldemort shook his head. 

“Something is up with you,” Voldemort said, pushing himself out of his chair so that he could level the being with a glare. “I just told you you could stay and court me or whatever. You should be jumping for joy.” 

“ **Was my reaction not satisfactory? I can jump up and down for you if you’d like**.” Death said with a grin. Voldemort narrowed his eyes. 

“You’re deflecting.” he accused. “What is it? What are you hiding?” 

Death sighed and deflated, and without the posturing, Voldemort could see the clear tenseness radiating off the being. Something was wrong. “ **It’s nothing Dear** ,” Death said softly, running his hand through his hair in a surprisingly human gesture. “ **Just… something is coming, I fear**.” 

“What does that mean?” Voldemort demanded. 

Death shook his head. “ **Hold close to your child, Dear Immortal Lord, I fear the reckoning on the horizon grows closer**.”

* * *

“There isn’t much time left,” Albus said softly, his blue eyes dull, and missing the signature twinkle as he paced back and forth. “Something must be done. Before it’s too late.” 

A sigh could be heard in front of him, and Albus paused in his pacing to look at the person in front of him. “Albus…” he said, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “This can’t continue. Look at yourself. You’re obsessed!” 

“I am doing what needs to be done,” Albus said firmly, ignoring the man’s scoff. “With Malfoy as minister, it is only a matter of time before the dark takes over and infects the children.” 

“And what do you intend to do about it? Start another war?” the man asked derisively. “Because that worked so well last time.” 

“No, a war would be too messy,” Albus said, shaking his head. “I fear we would not win, either. Too many have been corrupted. We are far outnumbered.” 

“Then there is nothing you can do but adapt,” the man stated. “Time’s are changing, Albus. Perhaps it is time you change with them.” 

“I will not allow myself to be corrupted into the Dark’s evil ways,” Albus said, his voice rising slightly. “Voldemort must be defeated before it is too late! We must knock him off his game somehow.” 

“And how do you suppose you’ll do that?” the man asked. 

“He was frantic when Harry Potter was taken from him,” Albus said with a small hum. “It took only a week for the man to become manic. Perhaps…” 

“You intend to kidnap the man’s son? You really _have_ changed.” 

“Harry Potter is James Potter’s son, _not_ Voldemort’s.” Albus snapped. “This delusion has gone too far. Tom was always obsessed with the idea of family, when he was corrupted, his desire for a family was corrupted along with him. He’s perverted the idea of family to the point that he kidnapped Harry from his family and brought him back from the dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Voldemort’s fault Harry died in the first place.” 

“Albus, please, listen to yourself!” the man cried. “Kidnapping a child? You’ve gone mad!” 

“No. I am the same as I always was,” Albus said firmly. “I have a plan to take Harry away from Voldemort. Once Voldemort is defeated, I will be able to save the toddler and free him of Voldemort’s control.” 

“This is crazy.” the man muttered. 

“It is for the Greater Good,” Albus countered. “Something you once believed in.” 

“Not like this. Never like this.” 

Albus ignored the man in favor of the door. “It’s almost time. Soon, Voldemort will be defeated. I’m afraid I must take my leave now. Thank you for all your help, old friend.” 

The man watched with sad eyes as Albus walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing against the barren stone. The man shivered against the cold breeze that blew through his cell, and his movement caused the magic-suppressing shackles to clank loudly. He sighed, and as the moon shone through an open window above him, lighting his gaunt fingers and thread-bare clothes and blanket, the man let out a mournful whine. 

“Oh Albus, what happened to you? You’ve changed so much…” Gellert whispered to the empty cell. “I fear what comes next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the chapter title says... It Begins. WELCOME MY FRIEND'S TO THE BEGINNING OF THE END!!! Gather your tissues and your popcorn cause shit is about to go down! Get ready everyone!!!!
> 
> _Fan Art credit goes to the wonderful Kirxxu!!! I love it so much! :)_
> 
> ~~ItS tHe FiNaL cOuNtDoWn~~
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Entwined, written by Purplewitch156  
> You guys, I am _obsessed_ with this fic. It's so freaking good!!!! This is a tomarry where Voldemort wins, but Harry Potter is missing! When Voldemort finds him, he discovers Harry is trapped in outer space! Long story short, they fall in love while Voldemort works to rescue him. Of course, Harry doesn't know who Voldemort is, and when he finds out... Oh Boy! Go check it out!!! I swear I am not doing this fic justice in this tiny little summary! Go read it!!!!  
> \-------------------------  
> Death: *Gives Voldemort an ominous, and vague warning with no context or elaboration*  
> Voldemort: That's weird...  
> Voldemort: ...  
> Voldemort: That's suspicious...


	43. 41: Making Moves

_**-December 1, 1991-**_  
“Tell me, Lucius, how has the Ministry been running since you took over?” Voldemort asked, keeping his eyes on the Malfoy patriarch, irritating the being hovering over him in the process. It did not take long for Voldemort to realize that Death enjoys the attention on him, so Voldemort going to a meeting right after their heart-to-heart yesterday was not something the being was okay with. Hence, Death was currently making funny faces at the Lord in front of him while he spoke. 

“The Ministry has adapted wonderfully to my leadership,” Lucius said, an air of self-importance radiating off of him. Above him, Death stuck out his tongue. Voldemort’s eye twitched at the childish display and for the hundredth time, Voldemort wondered if his toddler was more mature than the immortal entity courting him. “I have solved the undersecretary problem as well.” 

“Oh? How so?” Voldemort asked, leaning back against the plush chair he was sitting on, placing his hands on his desk. 

“The woman before me, Umbridge, was quite disagreeable to the changes I’ve made,” Lucius explained. “So I had her fired and promoted the Weasley boy in her place. Good lad, he is. Has a good head on his shoulder, and is from a predominantly light family, expanding the diversity in the Ministry and giving me, and by extension you, better publicity.” 

“Weasley? Isn’t his family known Order members?” Voldemort asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“He is nothing like his family, My Lord,” Lucius said. “He has distanced himself from his family and their company in favor of his career. I have no doubt that he will go far.” 

“Coming from you, I believe it,” Voldemort said with an impressed tone. “Last I heard, you despised the Weasley family.” 

Lucius scowled, his emotionless face breaking as it was tugged down with wrinkles. “I do,” he relented. “They are the definition of scum, however, I cannot fault the boy for his parents, as he’s proved he’s nothing like them or the rest of the Weasley clan.” 

Voldemort hummed. “Very well,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Keep me posted. And have someone watching the Weasley boy, at least for a little while. We can never be too careful.” 

“Of course, My Lord.” Lucius said, bowing his head. Above him, Death sneered. When Death realized he had momentarily captured Voldemort’s attention, he smiled widely and floated closer. 

“ **Do they always treat you this way**?” he asked, snapping his head in the direction of Lucius’ still bowed head. “ **That’s a little kinky. Is it a power thing**?”

Voldemort felt himself jolt in shock at the blunt question, having never expected to hear the words “kinky” and “power thing” from an immortal, ageless being. His eyes were wide with shock as he stared at the now giggling entity. His movement caused Lucius to lift his head to look at him in confusion, and Voldemort schooled his expression into a carefully indifferent mask. 

Choosing not to dignify the being with a response, Voldemort turned his face to address Lucius. “Have you anything else to report to me?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. 

“Nothing, My Lord,” Lucius said, before he paused and frowned. “However there is something strange. I suppose I should report it to you so that you are aware.” 

“Well? Don’t waste my time, Lucius.” Voldemort said curtly. Lucius nodded. 

“When I dismissed Umbridge,” he said, his eyes dark. “She threatened me. She claimed that she would get her revenge and I would never see it coming. I didn’t pay much to it, however, I have been keeping an eye on her.” 

“Being threatened by toads now, Lucius?” Voldemort asked with an amused grin. He expects Death to be laughing at the information, but when he glances at the being, he is surprised to see a grim expression on his face, his glowing green eyes narrowed dangerously at the Malfoy patriarch. 

“It was probably just the angry words of a woman scorned,” Lucius said with a chuckle. “Forgive me for wasting your time, My Lord.” 

Voldemort just waved his hand once more. “Thank you for your report Lucius, you may go,” Voldemort said, and he watched as the lord stood, bowed once more, and walked out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, he turned to face the entity in the corner. “Care to explain what that was?” he asked. 

“ **What what was, my Darling**?” Death asked, moving closer with an innocent expression on his face. Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly stating that he wasn’t buying it. 

“One moment you’re sticking your tongue out at Lucius---which, by the way, is something my four-year-old would do---and the next you’re looking at him like he ran over your puppy,” Voldemort said, standing up so that he was directly level with the being’s eyes. “Care to explain what happened?” 

“ **Why would he run over a puppy**?” Death asked, completely ignoring Voldemort’s question. “ **Is that something mortals do**?”

“You are missing the point,” Voldemort pointed out, sticking a single finger at him. “Trying to avoid my question only makes me want to know the answer more.” 

“ **It truly is nothing, my Dear** ,” Death said, tilting his head to the side. “ **I was merely thinking, I assure you**.” 

“Thinking about what?” 

Death stepped closer, the finger that Voldemort had been pointing now resting on his chest, and leaned down so that his nose was just a hair’s breadth away from his own. Voldemort refused to allow his face to flush at the closeness and maintained his scowl. When Death spoke, his breath tickled Voldemort’s cheeks. “ **Have you given any more thought to our relationship**?” he asked. 

Voldemort froze his breath stuttering in his chest at the question. “What does that have to do with anything?” he demanded, pushing away from the being. "And haven’t we talked about personal space?” 

“ **You asked me what I was thinking about** ,” Death said, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “ **I was simply answering the question**.” 

“Thinking about our relationship made you look like _that_?” Voldemort asked, crossing his arms as he pulled away from the being completely. “I’m not buying it.” 

“ **What’s there to buy? It’s the truth** ,” Death said with a shrug. “ **Why don’t you answer my question now that I’ve answered yours**?” 

“This is clearly a ploy to distract me from my question,” Voldemort snapped. “Don’t think I’ll fall for it that easily. Now, are you going to truly answer my question?” 

“ **If you answer mine**.” 

Voldemort let out a frustrated huff and glared at the smirking entity. Seriously, what was his problem? Why was he asking this? It had only been a day since Death announced his intentions to court him for real. Voldemort hadn’t had the time to think about it, as he was too busy running a country. He dragged his hand through his hair as he narrowed his eyes at Death. “Not really,” he admitted softly, averting his gaze when Death’s smirk deepened. “I’ve been distracted.” 

“ **Care for some assistance**?” Death asked, stepping forward. Voldemort side-stepped the being as he raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Assistance? With what, exactly?” 

“ **An experiment, if you will** ,” Death said, and Voldemort felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “ **To help you with your decision**.” 

“An experiment?” Voldemort deadpanned, and Death grinned broadly at Voldemort’s dry tone. “What is it?”

Death moved too quickly for Voldemort to catch it, one second he was a few feet away from Voldemort and the next he was standing directly in front of him, caging him against the wall. Voldemort felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat at the predatory expression on Death’s face. He was wearing the same body as yesterday, and his green eyes seemed to bore holes into Voldemort’s. He could feel the air spike with tension. 

Slowly, torturously slow, Death leaned forward to connect their lips. Voldemort’s eyes widened at the sensation of Death’s lips against his own, and unbidden, he let out a surprised gasp. Death smirked and stepped even closer, his leg parting Voldemort’s. The first kiss was chaste and sweet, and he pulled back after a few seconds, his gaze meeting Voldemort’s questioningly. 

“This is… an interesting experiment,” Voldemort said, his eyes darting between Death’s dark gaze and his lips. “But I’m not really convinced---”

Death pulled Voldemort’s face up and met his lips once more, but this time it was different. This was nothing like the kind and gentle kiss before, this kiss was powerful and possessive. Voldemort could feel his stomach stirring with lust and he pressed forward, his hands reaching up to hook around Death’s neck, tugging him closer. 

Voldemort could feel Death’s grin against his lips and he nipped harshly in punishment. He smirked at the gasp that Death let out, but was quickly overtaken by Death’s passionate response. Death pressed closer to him, and all Voldemort could feel was the sharp contrast between Death’s corpse-cold lips and the heat of his own. His nerves were alight with sensations, and he could feel the gooseflesh on his arms raise. 

Voldemort let out a surprised moan when Death bit down harshly on his lip, and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Oh. _Oh_. This was better than before. Voldemort melted against the wall as Death brushed against the back of his teeth and top of his mouth. Death’s chuckle vibrated inside Voldemort’s mouth, and it was enough to snap the man into action. 

He quickly spun the two around, slamming Death against the wall as he fought for control. Death’s surprised gasp was used against him as Voldemort began to return the favor. Death’s hand trailed up the back of Voldemort’s neck, sending shivers down his spine, as it made its way into Voldemort’s hair. Death grabbed a fistful of Voldemort’s hair and _tugged_ , separating their mouths with a harsh gasp. 

Voldemort felt unbearably hot, his face flushed as he stared at an equally debauched Death. A thin strand of saliva connected their lips and Voldemort brought up his hand to break it, sucking his finger into his mouth, watching with glee as Death shivered. 

“I certainly was not expecting that.” Voldemort said, his voice hoarse. 

“ **In a good way or a bad way**?” Death asked, pulling Voldemort closer to him with the grip he held on his hair. Voldemort let his forehead rest against Death’s as their breaths mingled. 

“I’m not sure,” Voldemort mused. “I suppose I’ll have to think about it.” 

Death narrowed his eyes. “ **Think about it**?”

“Yes, I have another meeting in an hour,” Voldemort said with a smirk. He didn’t actually, but it was amusing to watch Death’s face clench with irritation. Voldemort pulled away from Death’s grip, turning around to walk away. “I’ll talk to you later then?” 

He made it all of three steps before a hand reached out to tug him back, Death spinning Voldemort around so that he could press a harsh kiss against his lips. Voldemort grabbed the back of Death’s neck and tugged him closer, the other hand reaching up to fist the being’s shirt. Death nipped at Voldemort’s lips once, twice, three times before he pulled away, tilting Voldemort’s chin up so that he could suck on the skin directly underneath his Adam's apple. 

Voldemort’s grip on Death’s shoulder tightened as he let out a harsh gasp, only to shiver when Death pulled back to blow air against the wet spot on his neck. “ **Cancel it** ,” Death said, looking up at Voldemort’s lidded eyes with a deadly smirk. “ **I think we should continue our experiment**.” 

Voldemort smirked. “I suppose I could move some stuff around.”

* * *

Severus grumbles as he marches through the halls of the Dark Lord’s castle, a scowl set deep into his face. Of course, he has to find those pair of idiots and tell them they have to go undercover. Despite having returned to the Order’s HQ and receiving information several times, Severus knew that they’d never directly manipulated Dumbledore into getting the information they needed. 

They’d have to be subtle and cunning, not letting Dumbledore---a master manipulator---become aware of their true intentions. It would take skill, precise focus, and patience of steel to do such a thing. 

Severus froze in place. “Oh god they’re never going to do it,” he groaned, covering his face in his hands. “They’re dead. I’m dead. We’re all dead.” 

He sighed and began to walk again, looking through each of the rooms he came across, searching for the two imbeciles that were going to get him killed. He would’ve thought they’d be in the common room or training room, as that was where Severus saw them the most, but he’d already checked both of those spots with no sign of them. 

This was starting to get tedious, and if Severus had to waste the rest of his day searching for those buffoons, he was going to start throwing curses. Honestly, it was just his luck he’d be placed in charge of the couple. Severus knew the Dark Lord was fully aware of his hatred for the pair, and he was known for his cruelty. 

Still… 

“I never thought he could be _this_ cruel.” Severus muttered, closing the door of yet another empty room. 

Just as he was prepared to call a quits, he heard two familiar voices arguing in the room down the hall. Severus scoffed when he realized it was the only room he hadn’t checked yet, and rolled his eyes as he marched down the hall. As soon as he got in there he was going to give those idiots a piece of his mind for making him walk all over the castle like a bloody idiot. 

“Are you attracted to Severus too?” 

Severus froze in place, his eyes widening as he stared at the half-closed door in front of him. _What the hell…?_ He crept closer, making sure to keep out of sight as he stood against the wall, listening in. 

“I always thought he was beautiful,” a voice that sounded exactly like Lupin said. Severus couldn’t breathe. “But then you and James were targeting him, and then you and I got together and I never really thought about it.” 

“You don’t think Cissy was right, do you?” Black said, a horrified gasp escaping him. “Do you think we were just like kids pulling a little girl’s pigtails for attention because they… they….” 

Severus frowned at the euphemism, and suddenly, he wanted to be far, far away from where he currently was. He could hear Lupin let out a chuckle as well as the sound of robes rustling, and Severus figured Lupin was giving Black a hug. 

“Probably,” he said, and Severus wanted to smack the werewolf across the face. “It was pretty childish. And you were always making a big deal about him.” 

“W-What? No, I didn’t!” Black exclaimed. Lupin just chuckled again. 

“‘ _Oh look at Snivellus, that robe is too tight on him! I wonder if he does it on purpose?_ ’ and ‘ _Snivellus is talking to Lily again, he’s obsessed with her!_ ’” Lupin said, mimicking Black’s voice. Black spluttered and Severus could feel the heat rushing up to his cheeks. “‘ _Why isn’t Snivellus looking at me? I just won the Quidditch match, does he think he’s better than me?_ ’” 

“I do _not_ sound like that!” Black cried indignantly. “And you’re taking all of that out of context!” 

“Am I?” Lupin asked. “All I’m saying is, you have been attracted to Severus for quite some time, you just never noticed.” 

“And you did?”

“Of course I did!” Lupin said, and Severus bit his lip as he recalled all the instances where Lupin would give him that _look_ after Black did something back in school. He never understood what that look meant, but looking back now, he could clearly remember the frustration in his eyes. He always assumed it was regular frustration. 

_\---Lupin removed his hand from around Black’s waist and beckoned him forward. Severus watched as his other hand trailed the length of Black’s back, moving lower until it cupped Black’s bottom in an overtly sexual suggestion---_

Severus felt his eyes widen and his breath hitched in the back of his throat, and he instantly slapped his hand over his mouth, praying that the pair didn’t hear him. 

“How’s that” Black asked, and a small part of Severus sagged with relief as they continued their conversation. “Are you saying I’m stupid?” 

“I’m saying you’re dumb when it comes to your own feelings,” Lupin replied dryly. “How long did it take for you to confess to me?” 

“That’s different! You were my friend! Snape was…” Black trailed off, and Severus leaned forward slightly, cursing himself for his eagerness to hear what Black had to say next. 

“Snape was…?” 

Severus stepped even closer, pressing close enough that his ear was inches away from the door. 

“He was just… He was just _Snape_! He was out of my league!” Black snapped. “He was in Slytherin and clearly in love with James’ girl---”

“Which made you jealous and lash out.” Lupin added. 

“And the only time he gave me the time of day was when I was throwing his books out the window and pranking him with a new spell I learned!” Black huffed. “I guess that probably wasn’t the best way to get his attention.” 

“You _guess_?” Lupin asked. “You _guess_ it wasn’t the best way to get his attention. Sirius, Severus hates us for the way we treated him!”

“Yeah, and now it’s too late to try for a relationship with him, I get it!”

Severus could feel his heart stutter in his chest, his eyes widening dramatically as he stared at the door, wishing that he could see their faces as they spoke about this. 

“Try for a relationship with him?” Lupin asked, and Severus clenched his hands by his side. _What were they even talking about?_ He thought, refusing to acknowledge the slight bitterness he felt. _They were already in a relationship, what did they want him for?_ “Is that what you want?” 

“Clearly, I don’t know what I want!” Black cried. “Maybe! Yes? No! I don’t know! I didn't even know I liked him that way until last week!” 

“God, you really are hopeless, aren’t you?” Lupin asked, and his voice was so unbearably fond. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Black demanded. 

“We’ll tell Severus how we feel after we’ve received his forgiveness,” Lupin said, ignoring Black’s previous question. “If he’s not interested, we settle for friendship like we should have done when we were in Hogwarts.” 

“That sounds fair,” Black said. “How do we get his forgiveness?” 

“We have to earn it---”

Severus ripped himself away from the door, his face flushed impossibly red as he quickly stepped away. How ridiculous. None of this could be true, could it? Black and Lupin… in love with---- _attracted_ to him? What fantasy world did he step into? 

There was no way Severus was going to deal with _this_ mess when he had a much more pressing one to deal with first. He made sure that he was far away enough down the hall that it would seem like he just arrived, and made sure to step loudly. 

“Black! Lupin! Where the bloody hell are you? I’ve been looking for you for almost an hour! You have a new mission!” Severus called, and he watched as said men stepped out of the room at the end of the hall and walked towards him. 

“Hey Severus,” Lupin said, waving at him kindly. Severus forced himself not to react at the friendly gesture. “You have a mission for us?” 

“What’s the mission?” Black asked, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes did a once-over of Severus. He instantly realized that his face was still flushed from embarrassment at hearing the couple speak. Severus schooled his expression and looked up coldly at the man. 

“You’re going undercover,” he said curtly. “So you’re going to have to learn how to act.” 

Hopefully he could take his own advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some ship development for the soul! Lol, Death really went 'slow-burns are for pussys!' Also, there's some fun fan art for the last chapter, so go check it out!! :)
> 
> STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING AND READ THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
>  _Hello everyone, this is the author speaking in a more direct way than before! Guess what? I started a new book yesterday! This is a Tomarry/Harrymort where Voldemort and Harry fall into a very complicated forbidden romance. Due to certain circumstances *ahem WAR ahem* they were separated. This is a story of Voldemort dealing with his victory over Magical Britain while thinking back on his relationship with Harry and regretting the loss of the love of his life... Until he discovers he has a chance to bring Harry back to him! It's called 'Death Never Stopped Me Before' and it's on my profile. PLEASE GO READ IT! (I am not above shameless self-promo)_
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Words hurt written by Little_Red_Hot_Riding_Hood  
> This is a cute little Marvel story about Peter Quill and his dad Yondu. Honestly, this is just adorable with just a touch of angst. Go check it out!  
> \-------------------------  
> Voldemort: *Magically locks his bedroom and casts several soundproof wards around it*


	44. 42: In The Eye of a Hurricane...

_**-December 2, 1991-**_  
Voldemort awoke slowly. That, in itself, was an odd occurrence, as Voldemort was used to snapping into consciousness within a split second, but perhaps the most odd occurrence was the fact that Voldemort was not alone in his bed. It was a large figure, so it definitely wasn’t Little One, and a heavy arm was wrapped around his bare torso, holding him tightly against an equally bare chest. Voldemort fought through the comforting lethargic haze in his mind to wake up, and when the activities of last night finally hit him, Voldemort snapped his eyes open. 

He slowly turned around, his crimson gaze finding the still sleeping Being in his bed. Death did not seem bothered by Voldemort’s movements as he didn’t wake, he did, however, grumble in his sleep and pull Voldemort closer to him, nuzzling his face into Voldemort’s neck. 

Voldemort flushed as Death’s breath tickles his sensitive neck, and he shifts slightly, trying to subtly pull away from the being. He is bare under the silk bed sheets, and he could feel Death’s similar state against him. It was… odd, for lack of a better term, to wake up after a night of amorous activities to see his partner still there. 

Voldemort did not often take lovers, as he was too busy running a country and raising an immortal toddler, not to mention, he had no interest in romantic relationships, and sex often came with emotional attachments. Voldemort could not remember the last time he had slept with another person, but he knew he had never let the person stay the night with him. 

The only person Voldemort cuddled was his son---and he was never the one being cuddled. 

Voldemort frowned, unsure of how to proceed with the recent development in he and Death’s relationship. The _experiment_ was a success, and Voldemort enjoyed it greatly, but he wasn’t sure how this would affect their friendship. Would Death expect more from him now that they’ve become physical? 

Voldemort wasn’t sure about it, simply because he had no experience with such a thing. Wanting to be in a relationship was a new idea to him, and he didn’t want to risk messing things up and pushing Death away. 

As soon as that thought crossed Voldemort’s mind he instantly rejected it. Voldemort was a powerful Dark Lord! He was always in control of a situation, and if he wanted to be in a relationship with Death, then he would! Lord Voldemort had no room for something as pathetic as insecurities, and sitting here, post bliss, worrying about such things was something only pathetic children did. 

Speaking of children---what is he going to tell Little One? 

Little One was just a child, far too young to understand complicated relationships between adults, and the last thing Voldemort wanted was to stress out his son. What if Little One didn’t want Voldemort in a relationship? He could recall several horror stories in which one of his followers attempted to get remarried, only to alienate their child in the process. 

Little One was the most important thing in his life, and if he decided he didn’t want Voldemort in a relationship, Voldemort would respect that. Death would too, because Voldemort wouldn’t allow otherwise. 

“ **What are you thinking about?** ” Death asked, apparently awake as he dragged Voldemort even closer to him. 

“Us.” Voldemort answered in a moment of embarrassing honesty. Voldemort clenched his teeth at the accidental confession, but stuck to it, knowing it was too late to take it back. “What we did. It changes things, doesn’t it?”

Death hummed, and Voldemort could feel the vibrations against his neck. “ **If you want it to** ,” he said. “ **Things can stay the same too, of course. We take this at your pace**.” 

Voldemort’s hand moved from the cool bedspread to clasp Death’s hand, shifting slightly so that he could hold it while still resting his head on Death’s arm. “I don’t know what I want,” he spoke. Well, in for a penny in for a pound, he supposed. “I liked this, though.” 

“ **Then we can take things slowly** ,” Death said softly. “ **Until you discover what you want**.” 

It was so horribly simple, it made Voldemort smile. This morning was beginning to feel more and more surreal. Voldemort would never have a ‘heart-to-heart’, it was far too plebeian. And yet, here he was, cuddling with Death and discussing their feelings. It was all so strange, Voldemort wasn’t sure how he felt about it at all. 

“I like this…” Voldemort whispers softly, in a tone so out of character for him it made him cringe, but he soldiered on. “I like us… What does that make us?” 

Death was silent for a moment as he played with Voldemort’s hair. “ **Companions** ,” he said finally. “ **It makes us companions. Two lonely souls seeking solace in each other**.”

Voldemort smiled. “Companions, huh?” he whispered. In response, Death pressed closer and kissed his cheek in a gentle display of affection. 

Voldemort allowed himself to rest in Death’s arms for as long as possible before he got up. Death had grumbled his complaints as Voldemort dragged himself away from Death’s grip, but Voldemort reminded the Being that there was a toddler next door who was bound to be freaking out because he couldn’t get into Voldemort’s room. 

Sure enough, as soon as Voldemort and Death were both decent, Voldemort opened the door to be greeted with a hyperventilating Little One, one hand anxiously tugging at his hair and the other shoved into his mouth and he sucked on his fingers. His eyes widened when he saw Voldemort standing in front of him and he let out a distressed whine before extending his hands towards him. 

“Oh dear, did I scare you?” Voldemort cooed, bending down to lift Little One into his arms. Little One said nothing, merely shoving his face into Voldemort’s collar and whined again. Voldemort smiled at the adorable toddler in his arms, lightly running his hand down his back in a comforting gesture. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Death leaning against the wall and watching them with a fond grin, his eyes alight with a gentle sweetness that Voldemort had never seen before. Voldemort continued to rock Little One in his arms, consoling the distressed child. After a few minutes of sweet whispers and cuddling, Little One pulled away to look at Voldemort. 

“Papa go ‘way?” he asked, bringing up his hand to pat at Voldemort’s cheek in question. 

“No sweetheart,” Voldemort said with a shake of his head. “Papa was just… busy, is all. I didn’t mean to scare you, dearest.” 

Little One seemed to consider this for a few seconds before he nodded, and in doing so, caught sight of Death standing against the wall. “Papa,” Little One said, tugging on Voldemort’s nose to get his attention. “Papa, look!” 

Death’s grin was blinding as Little One pointed at him, and Voldemort fought back a snort at the ridiculously domestic scene. “Yes, dear, I see him,” Voldemort said. “Do you remember him?” 

“Death.” Little One said, opening and closing his hand at Death, a toddler wave. “Hi Hi.” 

Death chuckled. “ **Hi Hi**.” 

“Papa play?” Little One asked, looking back and forth between Death and Voldemort. Voldemort frowned for a moment, watching his son’s emerald eyes lighten with excitement at the prospect of a new playmate. 

“Oh, I don’t know…” Voldemort trailed off. Just because he and Death were now… companions did not mean that he was ready for them to start hanging out. He still held on to some reservations about the whole thing. 

“ **I’ll be good** ,” Death said, and Voldemort froze for a second, wondering if the being could read his mind. “ **I won’t do anything bad, my Dear**.” 

“Papa p’wease?” Little One asked, pouting. Voldemort sighed. 

“Fine,” he said, adjusting his hold on Little One so that he was sitting on his hip. “He can play. But you have to bundle up, it’s cold outside.” 

Little One let out an excited squeal that had the volume of a whisper and began squirming in Voldemort’s hold, eager to play. Voldemort set him down on the ground and Little One shot off towards his room, no doubt about to dress himself up. Voldemort watched him go with a soft smile and Death trailed over to him, wrapping his arms around Voldemort’s waist. 

“ **You’re different with him** ,” Death whispered, resting his chin on Voldemort’s shoulder. “ **Lighter. Happier**.” 

“It’s easy with him,” Voldemort responded, leaning back into Death’s weight ever so slightly. “I just have to be ‘Papa’, not ‘Great Lord Voldemort’.” 

“ **Do you ever regret it?** ” 

“What? Becoming a Dark Lord?” Death nodded against his shoulder. Voldemort hummed, “No, I don’t think so. It was my life’s goal, you know? I know it doesn’t seem so, but I did a lot of good with what I accomplished.” 

“ **What about Little One? Do you regret taking him in?** ”

“Merlin no,” Voldemort denied quickly. He didn’t even need to think about that one. “Little One is… He’s… He started off as just an heir but he became my life. He changed me for the better… I fear what I might have become without him.” 

Little One burst into the room then, and Voldemort stifled a chuckle at the sight of him. Little One was wearing a giant coat on top of several thinner jackets, he looked like a giant marshmallow. He was wearing Voldemort’s old scarf with green and blue panels, and peaking out from underneath the scarf, Larry sat nestled in between the bulbous winter coat and a red sweater. His eyes sparkled as he rocked back and forth in his blue snow boots. 

“Papa, we play?” he asked, waving his arms up and down, making squeaky noises where the coat rubbed against each other. 

Voldemort nodded, bending down to lift the toddler into his arms. “Of course dear,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Let’s go!” 

The trio walked outside to the grounds in content silence, the only noise coming from the overexcited toddler who bounced his arms up and down, making the coat squeak once more. Voldemort set Little One down on the ground, his boots sinking under the thin layer of snow. Voldemort cast a minor heating charm on Little One’s clothes to keep him comfortable as he grabbed Death’s hand and began to drag him towards one of the flower beds. 

Voldemort followed behind the pair, a fond grin resting on his face. The scene, much like the bedroom, was unbearably domestic, and it filled Voldemort with a strange warm feeling in his gut.

He never expected to have something like this: a partner and a son, happily playing outside in the snow. It made him think back to poor orphan Tom Riddle whose secret desire was to have a family. Some emptiness that Voldemort never knew he had was filled at the sight. 

“Papa crown?” Little One called, bringing Voldemort’s attention to the pair who were now crouching in the snow. Larry, having somehow managed to escape Little One’s coat, was struggling to waddle through the tiny snow, his uneven leg dragging through the cold. 

“You want to make flower crowns?” Voldemort asked, stepping forward, ignoring the soft quacking from behind him. If he was lucky, maybe the infernal duck would wander off in the cold. One could only hope… 

Little One nodded, his hair flopping into his face with his enthusiasm. “Crown!” 

“Alright then,” Voldemort said, clearing off some of the snow from the flowers with a wave of his hand. “They’re a little cold, though. Do be careful.” 

Little One paid no heed to Voldemort’s warning, merely stripping off his dark green mittens and placing them carelessly in the snow as he began to pick out flowers for crowns. Voldemort grimaced at the sight, and though, technically, Little One couldn’t hypothermia, he cast an extra heating charm just to be safe. 

“ **Flower crowns?** ” Death asked him, looking up from his seated position on the ground to where Voldemort stood. 

“He gives flower crowns to new friends,” Voldemort said in lieu of explanation. “Congratulations.” 

Death beamed, clearly excited at the notion of being Little One’s friend. He leaned forward when Little One held out two flowers, a rose and a daisy, and Death pointed at the white flower. Little One began to make his crown digiliantly when Voldemort felt something push against his foot. He looked down to see Larry looking at him with wide eyes. 

Voldemort glared at the duckling for a moment before he sighed. He lifted the duckling out of the snow and placed him on top of Little One’s forgotten mittens. The duck quacked at him before he nuzzled the fuzzy warmth. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” Voldemort said to the duckling. “This doesn’t mean anything.” 

The duck only looked at Voldemort for a second longer before he nuzzled closer into the mittens. Voldemort sniffed at the ungrateful beast and turned to look at Little One. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Death chuckling at him. 

Suddenly a hand was thrust into his face, and Voldemort reared back on instinct, only to relax when he saw it was Little One holding a flower crown. Little One was beaming at him, his scarf having slipped down enough to see the bottom half of his face. Voldemort smiled at him and bowed his head so Little One could place the crown on his head. 

Little One giggled when he was done, and Voldemort smiled at the happy sound. It had been too long since Voldemort had simply played with his son. Little One was wearing his own flower crown consisting of daffodils and daisies, and in his hands was a flower crown of daisies for Death. 

Little One handed the flower crown to Death only for the entire thing to wilt into dust the second it touched his hands. Death watched it happen sadly while Little One stared at it with horrified shock. He lightly touched the wilted remains of the flowers before he looked up at Death questioningly. 

“ **Plantlife wilts in my presence** ,” Death said mournfully, looking at the two of them in their matching flower crowns sadly. “ **I’m so sorry, Little One, the flower crown was lovely**.” 

“Death sad?” Little One asked, patting the being’s arm in a comforting gesture. 

“ **I wanted to match**.” Death said truthfully. “ **But I forgot…** ” 

Voldemort took one look at the matching sadness on Little One and Death before he sighed. “Don’t worry dear heart,” Voldemort said cheerfully, transfiguring the wilted remains of Little One’s first flower crown into a metal version. “Here, now we all match.” 

Death picked up the metal crown and held it in his hands reverently for a second before he placed it on his head. The metal was colored lifelike, and it looked like real flowers. Little One clapped happily when the crown sat on Death’s head and nothing happened. Death had a broad grin on his face as he looked at Voldemort, and Voldemort could not fight back the smile that stretched across his face. 

“ **Thank you…** ” he whispered, holding out his hand to lightly caress Voldemort’s cheek, red from the cold. 

“It was nothing,” Voldemort said, staring at Death’s eyes for a second more before tearing his gaze away to look at Little One. “What shall we do next, my dear?” 

Little One hummed for a second before he grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at Voldemort’s face. Voldemort let out a surprised gasp at the cold before he heard Little One and Death break out into chuckles. “I’m gonna get you for that!” Voldemort cried, grabbing at some snow. 

Little One let out an excited squeal and wobbled to his feet before he started to run away. Voldemort laughed and started chasing his son, throwing snowball after snowball, intentionally missing. It got interesting when Death got involved, as the being had a knack for knowing when the snowball was about to hit him. 

The trio stayed outside in the cold for another hour before they finally went in, dripping from the cold. It was, however, the most fun Voldemort had had in a while, and when they curled up by the fire to read Beedle the Bard while drinking hot chocolate, Voldemort could feel all the stress he’d been carrying melt away. 

He rested his head on Little One’s and held Death’s hand with his free one while they read story after story by the fire, and Voldemort felt like they were a family. 

It was wonderful.

* * *

“Are you ready to go?” Remus asks, patting Sirius’ shoulders as he checks him over. “We have to go undercover now until the Dark Lord calls us back.” 

“I know,” Sirius said, reaching out to straighten out the lapels of Remus’ coat. “This will be easy, a total piece of cake!” 

“Don’t be obvious.” Remus said, looking at Sirius firmly. Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Please Remmy, don’t insult me,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Serious is my middle name!” 

“Sirius Serious?” Remus deadpanned. Sirius just grinned.

“Don’t wear it out.” 

“Merlin you’re an idiot,” Remus said with a shake of his head. “Come on. We have to go soon.” 

“Getting ready to infiltrate the Order, then?” a voice called out from behind them. Sirius turned around to see Snape--- _Severus_ standing at the door, and Sirius swallowed dryly at the sight of him. He was wearing a tight pair of black pants and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, proudly displaying the dark mark. In his right arm was a black coat, and Sirius could see tiny specks of white in his hair where the snow was beginning to melt. 

“Were you outside?” Sirius blurted out before he snapped his mouth shut, an embarrassed flush spreading across his face. Beside him, Remus snorted. 

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I was. It’s snowing.” 

“Cool. Right. Nice. That’s, ah, nice,” Sirius cleared his throat and brought his hand to scratch at the back of his neck nervously. “Is it cold?” 

“It’s snowing, Black, what do you think?” Severus said cooly. Sirius bit his lip and nodded. “Right. Well, good luck, I suppose. Don’t blow it.” 

“Thank you, Severus---” 

“Fuck it.” 

“Excuse me?” Severus sputtered, his eyes widening as he looked at Sirius in shock, and he knew that Remus was looking at him with confusion, used to hearing that kind of language in private, but not in a public setting. “You have something to share, Black?” 

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Sirius said, stepping forward, ignoring the calming hand placed on his shoulder, courtesy of Remus. “I have something to say to you, Severus.”

“What are you doing, Siri?” Remus whispered, but Sirius didn’t respond, his gaze planted firmly on the potions master in front of him. 

Severus, clearly caught off guard by the use of his first name, merely stared at him. “I don’t want to hear any insults, Black,” he said. “Hurry up and leave, already.” 

Sirius fell to his knees, and placed his head on the ground, “I’m so sorry Severus,” he whispered, but in the silence of the room, it sounded like a shout. “I have wronged you and I can never stop apologizing for that. Truly, I am so sorry.” 

“W---Stand up, Black! You look ridiculous! What are you doing?!” Severus sputtered. 

“I am offering my deepest apologies for what I’ve done.” Sirius said, and Severus let out a harsh scoff. 

“You’ve already apologized, Merlin Black, get up!” Severus cried. “This is too much, even for you!” 

Sirius raised his chest but did not stand, sitting on the back of his heels. From this position, he could see Severus’ stunned expression and the amused grin of Remus behind him. “I’ve hurt you,” Sirius said, his eyes meeting Severus’ firmly. “I was a stupid kid who didn’t know how to deal with his feelings back then, but that isn’t an excuse. I will do what I have to to make it up to you.” 

“You---... Your _feelings_?!” Severus said, his face screwed up with confusion. “What’s the matter with you? Lupin! Control your boyfriend! I think he’s been hit with a spell or something!” 

“I haven’t,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to make you understand, so I’m just going to come out and say it.” 

“Say _what_?!” 

Sirius stood then, using his full height to box Severus against the wall. “I’m attracted to you,” he said, smiling when Severus’ breath hitched in the back of his throat as he stared at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know when it happened but it did. I took it out on you instead of asking you on a date like I should have, and I will always regret that.” 

“You… You… Lupin…” Severus stuttered, his gaze flitting from Sirius to Remus with pleading eyes. 

“Remus feels the same way,” Sirius said. “And we’re going to win you over, Severus Snape. We are going to do everything we can to make it up to you. And once we’ve earned your forgiveness, we are going to take you out.” 

“What---” 

“He’s right, you know,” Remus cut in, making Severus draw his gaze away from Sirius’ heated stare to look at the werewolf. “We are going to do right by you.” 

“So get ready,” Sirius said in a deep voice, watching with satisfaction as Severus’ face grew red. “To be wooed, Severus.” 

With that, Sirius pulled away from Severus and offered his hand out to Remus who took it and began to walk away, throwing one last grin over his shoulder at the potions master who was standing frozen against the wall. 

They stepped into the apparition zone and apparated out of the Dark Lord’s castle. It wasn’t until Sirius was in the comfort of his old home that he allowed himself to panic. He turned his head to look at Remus with wide eyes. 

“Remus,” he said with a strained voice. “What the hell did we just do?” 

“I think we just propositioned Severus Snape.” Remus said with a smile. 

Sirius just let out a harsh gasp and covered his face with his hands. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay new chapter! I hope you all enjoyed the fluff, because it's the last you're going to get in a while... hehehe. 
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Words Fail written by Eagleinflight  
> This is a really good langst fanfiction for the Voltron fandom. The team has to go into Lance's memories and they learn quite a bit about their resident Blue Paladin in the process. Great fic, makes me cry every time! Go check it out!  
> \-------------  
> Severus: *still standing against the wall*  
> Severus: _Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck---_


	45. 43: ...There is Quiet

_**-December 3, 1991-**_  
“ **Change it**.” He snarled, slamming his hands down onto the table. Fate said nothing, merely looking up at Death with a raised eyebrow. 

“ **You messed up my game** ,” She said, gesturing to the scattered chess pieces on the ground. “ **Is something the matter, Brother**?” 

“ **I know you planned something** ,” Death said, looming over Her. “ **I am asking you to change it**.” 

“ **I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear Brother** ,” Fate said softly, waving Her hand so that the chess pieces were righted again. “ **And even if I did, I wouldn’t change things because you cannot interfere with my plans**.” 

“ **I know something is about to happen**!” Death shouted. “ **I feel it. Something is about to change. The universe is about to shift drastically, and I fear that my Master and my Companion will suffer for it**.” 

“ **You are the one who wanted a Master** ,” Fate reminded Him, moving her pawn forward. “ **Calm down and play a round with me**.” 

“ **I don’t have the time to play chess, Sister! Leave the game for a moment and listen to me** \---” 

“ **Brother, I assure you, you have the time to play** ,” Fate said. “ **Sit. Play with me as we speak**.”

Blowing out a harsh breath of air, Death sat down on his chair and moved forward a black pawn, ignoring His Dear Sister’s smug smile. As Fate moved Her next piece, Death waited patiently for Her to continue. “ **Well**?” he asked, tapping His finger against the board. 

“ **This plan is necessary** ,” Fate spoke, and Death moved his pawn again. “ **You wanted your Master. I have devised a way to give him to you**.” 

Death froze. “ **What do you mean**?” 

“ **You will see soon** ,” Fate answered, moving Her knight. “ **Why do you fret? Isn’t this what you wanted**?” 

“ **I am content with how things are now** ,” Death said carefully. “ **Why do things need to change**?” 

“ **All things change, Brother** ,” Fate said with a dismissive wave of Her hands. “ **Why fight it when it’s much easier to accept it and go with the flow**?” 

“ **What is coming**?” 

Fate smiled. “ **You cannot fight it** ,” She said. “ **It is inevitable. Let it happen, Dear Brother, to fight it would cause more pain**.” 

Her knight captured His rook.

* * *

He was awoken by the sound of apparition, and Gellert slowly cracked open his eyes to see Albus standing in his cell. It was rather odd for him to visit Gellert again so soon, and Gellert pushed himself up on one elbow to look at the man. “Why are you here, Albus?” Gellert asked, watching with wariness as his ex-lover paced the cold ground. “This is unlike you.” 

“It’s time, Gellert,” Albus said, raising his head to meet Gellert’s gaze. Gellert’s eyes widened when he saw his eyes. Albus’ usually twinkling eyes were wide with mania, the sight only convincing Gellert that the Albus he once knew and loved was long gone. “It’s time to save the world again.” 

“When is the last time you slept?” he asked, leaning against the cold stone walls. 

“I’ve been busy planning,” Albus said, ignoring the concern. “Soon the world will go back to the way it was meant to be. The Dark Magic will be gone, and our kind will be free from it’s corrupting presence.” 

“Honestly, Albus,” Gellert said, shaking his head. “You must know that’s false. Dark magic isn’t evil.” 

“You were corrupted,” Albus countered. “You are still under its influence.” 

“How?!” Gellert cried, lifting his hands to shake the manacles on his wrists. “These magic-canceling cuffs have been on me for decades! How could I be ‘corrupted’?” 

Albus didn’t respond, and Gellert could nothing but watch as Albus continued to pace, his steps echoing against the cold walls. Albus looked more mad in this moment than he ever had before, and Gellert feared what he was about to do. 

“I must go soon,” Albus said, breaking the tense silence. “I have to carry out my plan to save the world.” 

“Albus, whatever you’re about to do, _don’t_.” Gellert cried. “Please, look at yourself! You’ve gone mad!” 

“No, what’s _mad_ is the way the people can’t see!” Albus cried. “They don’t see how damaging Dark Magic is! They’re losing themselves! I won’t stand by and watch as people succumb to its corrupting influence like I did you.” 

“Albus---” 

“I’m sorry for cutting out time short, old friend,” Albus said, cutting him off. “But I really must be off.” 

With the final words of parting, Albus apparated, the loud _crack_ bouncing off the walls. Gellert stared at the place Albus was standing in with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open with shock. Albus had truly lost his mind! 

“I don’t know what he’s about to do,” he whispered. “But I pray for those souls.” 

There was no reply save for the whistling of the wind.

* * *

“Papa story?” Voldemort looked down with a grin, Little One standing in front of him holding up Beedle the Bard, the huge book covering most of the toddler as he struggled to hold it. At his feet, Larry quacked at him, as though he were agreeing with Little One. 

“You want me to read you a story?” he asked, taking the book from Little One’s outstretched arms. Little One nodded with excitement, his hair flopping up and down from the movement. “Which one?” 

Little One frowned with thought for a moment before he proudly exclaimed, “All of ‘dem!” 

Voldemort smiled at Little One before he stood, ignoring the paperwork he was supposed to be doing right now in favor of reading his son a story. With the book in one arm, Voldemort bent down to lift Little One into his free hand, shifting him so that he sat on Voldemort’s hip. With Little One secure in his arms, Voldemort was free to walk to Little One’s bedroom. Behind him, Larry let out an indignant quack as he struggled to keep up with Voldemort’s pace due to his feet. Voldemort smirked.

After yesterday, Little One had asked Voldemort to change his bedroom so that it had snow in it. Voldemort made the adjustments so that there was a light flurry in Little One’s bedroom, while maintaining the comfortable temperature. Little One loved it, and Voldemort had smiled as he watched his son race around his room with his head tilted back to feel the snow. Death had stayed the night with him again yesterday, and Voldemort could freely admit that he enjoyed waking up next to Death in the morning. 

Yesterday was wonderful, and he’d secretly been looking forward to spending time with Death and Little One again today, but Death was nowhere to be found. It was a little out of character for the clingy being, but Voldemort didn’t dwell on it too much. 

When he arrived in Little One’s room, Little One began squirming in his hold, his face lit up with excitement as he felt the snow on his face. Voldemort gently set the toddler on the ground, smiling as Little One giggled. 

Voldemort walked slowly to the bed swing, the leaves now decorated with a thin layer of snow, as Little One jumped into tiny snow piles. As Voldemort got comfortable on the bed, Little One began making tiny snowballs, the reason for coming into the room long forgotten. Voldemort didn’t mind though, raising a toddler for eternity meant he was no stranger to short attention spans. As long as Little One was happy, Voldemort was content. 

As Little One began making tiny snowmen out of his snowballs, Larry finally made it to the room, his waddling lopsided as he struggled to clear the snow with his short foot. Watching the mangy duck move never failed to entertain Voldemort, as the thing was forced to bob from side to side as he waddled. 

After a few seconds of waddling, Larry had only managed to get a few inches through the snow. He let out a loud quack then, alerting Little One to his presence. Little One let out a soft gasp and rushed over to the duckling, lifting him up and carrying him into the room. Voldemort scoffed. What a lazy duckling. 

Larry met Voldemort’s gaze and he seemed to glare at him accusingly, and Voldemort smirked in response. Clearly the duck didn’t appreciate being left behind. In response to Voldemort’s smirk, the duck rubbed his face into Little One’s, and Little One giggled before pressing several kisses to the top of the duckling’s head. Voldemort’s smirk dropped instantly at the sight as he glared at the duck. 

“Little One!” Voldemort called, interrupting Little One’s continued attempts to smother the beast with affection. “I thought you wanted me to read you a story?” 

“Story!” Little One gasped, abandoning his half-made snowman in favor of rushing over to Voldemort’s side. To Voldemort’s dismay, Little One carried Larry with him as he climbed up into the bed. 

“I don’t think Larry will be able to see the book from there,” Voldemort said, gesturing towards the beast that was currently sitting in Little One’s lap. “Do you want me to move him so he can see the pictures?” 

Little One nodded, the horror of not being able to see the pictures clearly displayed on his face. From his place in Little One’s lap, Voldemort could see Larry glaring at him, and Voldemort fought back a smirk as he picked the thing up and placed him on a nearby branch, far away from his precious Little One. Larry quacked in disagreement, but Voldemort quickly distracted Little One by lifting the toddler into his lap. 

“There we go,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “Now everyone can see.” Everyone except Larry, of course, who was sitting on a branch above Voldemort’s head, unable to do anything but quack and glare. 

“Story!” Little One whispered, tapping on the book cover. 

“Of course precious,” Voldemort agreed, opening the book cover. “Now let’s see, which story shall we read first---” 

Voldemort’s question died in the back of his throat when he felt a weight land on top of his head. Little One looked up questioningly when Voldemort paused, only to let out a giggled as he pointed to Voldemort’s head. “Larry!” he said. 

Pure rage flowed through him as he carefully lifted his hand to pat his head. Sure enough, the infernal beast had jumped from his position on the branch and was now nuzzling his way into Voldemort’s hair. 

_How dare---_

“Good Papa!” Little One said, patting Voldemort’s cheek. “Larry happy!” 

“Actually, I think Larry is very uncomfortable and would like to move---” 

“Larry happy, Papa,” Little One protested, stopping Voldemort from moving the damned duck off his head. “Larry stay?” 

Voldemort watched with resignation as Little One’s eyes filled with tears. Damn. Voldemort let out a sigh and gently carded his fingers through Little One’s hair in a comforting gesture. “Of course he can stay, dear heart,” he said. “Larry can see the pictures even better now.” 

Little One beamed and Voldemort couldn’t stop the feeling that he’d just been tricked into making a deal with the devil.

* * *

“ **Will they be in pain**?” He asked, moving His bishop across the board. Several of His pieces sat on the outside of the board, and it was obvious who was winning---like always---as He only had a handful of pieces left. 

“ **You cannot stop it from happening** ,” Fate said, moving another one of Her knights. “ **Why do you keep asking? You’ve never done this before**.” 

“ **It’s different now, and you know it**.” Death countered, moving his queen a few spaces to the left. 

“ **Why? Because you’ve grown attached**?” 

“ ** _You’re_ the one who made me attached**!” Death cried, shooting His Sister a glare. 

“ **No, I merely set you in their direction** ,” Fate said with a shake of Her head. “ **You grew attached on your own**.” 

“ **Why would you send me to them if you intend to take them from me later**?” Death asked, moving his only pawn. “ **That’s cruel, even for you**.” 

“ **It needs to happen, Dear Brother** ,” Fate said. “ **You will understand in due time**.” 

“ **Just tell me now**!” Death cried, scoffing as Fate took His final pawn with Her knight.

“ **How impatient** ,” Fate murmured, resting Her head on Her hand. “ **You are really upset about this, aren’t you**?” 

“ **How could I not be**?” Death cried. “ **Something is going to happen and I can’t stop it! I could lose everything**!” In His anger, He slammed his rook down on the board in the perfect position to capture Her king. “ **Check**.” 

Fate merely hummed. “ **Sometimes, Dear Brother** ,” She said, moving Her king out of the way. “ **One must lose something to gain everything**.” Her king was now in the perfect position to take Death’s king. “ **Check**.” 

“ **What does that mean**?” Death growled, boxing Fate’s king in with his rook and Queen. “ **Check**.” 

“ **It means that you cannot stop what’s about to happen, Dear Brother, as I’ve said. You are about to lose a lot of things** ,” Fate said with a smirk. “ **But you’ve never been very good at looking at the _bigger picture_ , have you? Checkmate**.” 

In Death’s distraction, he’d only noticed Fate’s king, completely missing the knight that She had been steadily moving over in the proper place to take His king. Fate picked up Her knight and knocked over Death’s king.

“ **Don’t forget the bigger picture** ,” Fate said, staring into Death’s eyes. “ **Not everything is as it seems**.” 

The king fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

* * *

Half-way through the second story, Voldemort felt the familiar chill of Death’s presence. Voldemort lifted his head to see Death standing on the threshold of the doorway, a strange expression on his face. Little One let out a gasp when he saw Death, scooting his way off Voldemort’s lap so that he could run over to the being. 

“Death!” Little One exclaimed happily. “Hi!” 

It was strange watching the pair interact with each other. Little One was open with Death in a way Voldemort had never seen before. He’d actually brought it up with Death yesterday, and Death theorized that he was comfortable around Death because Little One was his Master. 

“ **Hello, Little One** ,” Death whispered, patting Little One on the head. “ **What are you doing**?” 

“Storytime!” Little One explained. He reached up to grab Death’s hand before he began to drag Death towards Voldemort. Death smiled, but Voldemort could see something was wrong. As Little One climbed back into Voldemort’s lap, Voldemort sent Death a questioning look. 

“ **Nice hat**.” Death said, ignoring the look. Voldemort frowned at the reminder of the mangy beast on his head and scowled at Death. 

“Silly Death,” Little One giggled. “Not a hat! It’s Larry!” 

“ **Ah, I see**.” Death said, sitting down on the bed next to Voldemort. “ **Apologies Larry**.” 

“We were just reading a story,” Voldemort said, offering Death one half of the book. Death took it with a smile, and with his free hand, he held Voldemort’s. “Care to join us?” 

“ **I would love nothing more**.” Death said. 

The trio continued to read the stories, and Voldemort watched as Little One stared at the book with wide eyes, laughing whenever Death used funny voices. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He caught Death’s eye for a moment, and he could’ve sworn that the being looked pained. The look was gone in an instant, of course, leaving Voldemort to wonder if he’d seen it at all. 

However, even as Death acted like nothing was wrong, Voldemort couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

* * *

Albus approached the building with a smile, waving at some of the workers as he entered. He could see their confusion as he walked through the New Ministry, but no one said anything. He was about to walk towards the department of mysteries when Lord Malfoy blocked his path. 

“Hello Albus,” he said, an indifferent mask firmly in place. “What brings you to the New Ministry today?” 

“Why I came to see you, of course,” Albus said with a smile. Lord Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “How have you been, my boy? How’s Minister life treating you?” 

“I doubt you came here just to ask me that,” Lord Malfoy said, crossing his arms. “Why are you really here?” 

“You’re right,” Albus said with a sigh. “I’m actually here to see Mr. Weasely. Just thought I’d be polite and ask how you’re doing, my boy.” 

“Percy Weasely?” Lord Malfoy asked, and Albus shook his head. 

“Oh no, his father,” he explained. “Why, I’d forgotten young Percy works here now. How is he doing, by the way?” 

“He’s fine,” Lord Malfoy said with a grimace. “I’ll take you to Arthur Weasley now. We can’t have unauthorized personnel just waltzing around here, now can we?” 

“Oh no, I suspect not.” Albus agreed. 

“Right this way,” Lord Malfoy said, pointing towards a hallway. Albus followed Lord Malfoy through the halls before he whipped out his wand, freezing the man in place. “Well this is unexpected,” the man says as he glares at Albus. “What are you doing?” 

“What must be done,” Albus says. “ _Legilimens_!” 

Albus dug through Lord Malfoy’s mind, tearing apart the man’s mental blocks like paper, searching for the information he sought. When he found it, he pulled out of the Minister’s mind. Lord Malfoy was breathing heavily as he glared at Albus, a single trail of blood running down his nose. “I don’t know what you want that information for, but it won’t end well for you,” he snarled. “Some Light Lord you are.” 

“You will understand soon,” Albus said gently. “Soon, Dark Magic will be gone, and no one will be corrupted anymore.” 

Lord Malfoy paused. “Have… Have you gone mad?” 

“No,” Albus said, pointing his wand at the immobilized Minister. “I am doing what needs to be done for the Greater Good. _Obliviate_.” 

As Lord Malfoy slumped into unconsciousness, Albus turned around and walked out of the New Ministry. He had the information he needed to save the world, and soon everything would return to the way it was meant to be. 

He apparates away just as the bomb goes off, blowing up the New Ministry building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fanfiction Rec:** All For One's guide to a peaceful retirement written by ScottishSunshine  
> This is just an adorable fic with Dad For One because I'm weak. Honestly, you should seriously check it out! I love it so much!!!  
> \-----------------  
> Dumbledore: *blows up the New Ministry building*   
> Author: 
> 
> Readers: 


	46. 44: Necessary

_**-December 4, 1991-**_  
Voldemort had just fallen asleep, exhausted from spending the day with his hyperactive toddler who didn’t know when to quit, and Death, who was a total enabler and was no help whatsoever at getting the child to calm down enough to go to bed. Once Little One had finally been tucked in and sent off to sleep, Death had followed Voldemort to his bedroom before they collapsed into bed, asleep in mere seconds. 

Voldemort had never been able to sleep easily before, but somehow Death made it easy for Voldemort to fall asleep in a matter of minutes instead of hours. It was so comfortable and warm in the bed, Death’s arm wrapped around his waist in a protective gesture, and Voldemort had sunk into the peaceful oblivion almost instantly. 

Only for his alarm to go off an hour later, startling Voldemort and Death so badly, the pair fell out of the bed. Voldemort groaned, the blaring alarm causing his ears to ring. Voldemort cursed quietly in parseltongue before he silenced the alarm, standing to his feet with the assistance of Death. 

“ **What’s going on**?” Death asked, looking at Voldemort in confusion. “ **Did you forget something in the oven**?”

“No,” Voldemort said, summoning his robes wandlessly. “That’s the alarm for the New Ministry. Lucius is calling me, so something must have happened.” 

“ **It’s probably nothing** ,” Death said, his face screwed up in a mixture of emotions that Voldemort didn’t have the time to decipher. “ **You should just ignore it. Come back to bed**.”

The offer was tempting, especially when Death wrapped his arms around Voldemort’s waist and began to pepper light kisses up the path of his neck, but Voldemort resisted. “I can’t,” he said mournfully, twisting out of the being’s grip. “It might be something important. It’s my duty to check it out.” 

“ **It’s your duty to check it out at one o’clock in the morning**?” Death asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Was it really that early? A quick _tempus_ charm proved that it was, in fact, one AM. With a scowl, Voldemort got dressed, quickly getting himself ready for whatever Lucius needed from him. “It better be world-ending important,” Voldemort muttered to himself as he fixed his bed-hair. “Or he’ll find out just how much I am not a morning person.” 

Just as Voldemort moved to open the door, Death caught his elbow, tugging him back into his chest. “ **Stay**.” he purred into his ear. Voldemort caught the being’s wandering hands with a tight grip, stepping out of his hold. 

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Voldemort drawled. “I really must go. I’ll be back soon, but the longer you hold me up, the longer it’ll take to settle whatever mess Lucius has gotten himself into.” 

Death is frowning at him now, and Voldemort eyes the pouting being with confusion. “ **Don’t go**.” 

“What’s the matter?” Voldemort asks, crossing his arms. “You’re not usually so clingy. What’s going on?” 

Death just looked away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. “ **Stay**.” 

“Why?” Voldemort asked again, only to huff when Death gave no response. “Look, I have to go. We can talk about whatever this---” Voldemort gestured to Death’s tense form. “---is when I get back. Okay?” 

Death said nothing as Voldemort stood there, waiting for a response. Finally, he dipped his head down in assent, and Voldemort nodded back at him. With one final backward glance at the confusing entity, Voldemort grabbed the door handle and left the bedroom. 

As the door was closing he could Death whisper softly, “ **Please be careful**.” before the door clicked shut behind him. Voldemort frowned in confusion, Death’s strange behavior at the forefront of his mind as he walked briskly to the apparition zone. 

What was up with him? Death, while strange and clingy, had never acted like this before. Voldemort just sighed, shaking the thought out of his mind. He would worry about Death’s weird behavior when he returned, but right now he needed to focus on whatever caused Lucius to summon him at one o’clock in the morning. 

When he apparated to the New Ministry, he was greeted with pure _chaos_. 

People were screaming and yelling and running around as smoke and fire poured out of the charred remains of the New Ministry building. Voldemort was frozen in place for a second before he moved, whipping out his wand and throwing charm after charm to control the fire. 

Other wizards arrived shortly after him, taking over the fire. When the fire had died down enough for Voldemort to walk up to it, he stepped forward into the rubble, his face set into a deep scowl. All around him, he could see the people eye him warily, unsure of what was going on. 

“What happened here?” he said carefully, his words echoing across the now silent square. The only noise was from the crackling embers and his angry breathing, his eyes trailing over the destroyed remains of the New Ministry building. “WHAT HAPPENED HERE?” he snarled, the yell causing several people to flinch. 

“W-We don’t know, My Lord,” someone dared. “There was no warning…” 

“Where is the Minister?” Voldemort asked, looking around for Lucius. Voldemort had assumed it was Lucius who set off the alarm, but his alarm could also be triggered on its own if the event was dire enough. Dire like the entire New Ministry building going up in flames. 

“He was inside when it went off, My Lord.” another person answered. “We’re still pulling the injured out of the rubble.” 

“ **What’s happened**?” a familiar voice asked from beside him. Voldemort turned ever so slightly to the left to see Death standing behind him, eyes wide as they looked around the destruction. 

“Find me the Minister!” Voldemort demanded, watching as the bystanders began combing through the rubble. Voldemort looked at Death and raised an eyebrow, silently asking the being if Lucius had died in the explosion. 

“ **Lucius Malfoy’s soul has not entered my domain** ,” Death said, shaking his head. “ **He is still alive**.” 

“Did you know about this?” Voldemort asked under his breath, using his wand to help lift the larger pieces of rubble. “Was this why you were acting so weird?” 

“ **I had no knowledge of this** ,” Death said, shaking his head. “ **I… I had a conversation with my Sister that set me on edge. I didn’t want to leave you alone…** ” 

“What did you talk about?” Voldemort asked, looking at the being with confusion. What could set Death on edge? “You didn’t want to leave me alone? Is it about me? Is something going to happen?”

Death opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by shouting. “I found the Minister!” someone cried, causing Voldemort to look over, putting a pin in the previous conversation with Death. Voldemort walked over to where Lucius had been found, his robes billowing in his stride. 

Lucius lay underneath a large piece of rubble, dirt and cuts covered his body, and a small trail of blood lined his forehead and cheek. He was unconscious but didn’t seem to hurt, only small superficial wounds. Voldemort cast a quick _rennervate_ and watched as Lucius snapped his eyes open and shot up. 

“Lucius,” Voldemort hissed, gripping the man by the shoulder. “What happened here?” 

Lucius’ eyes were wide as he looked around, taking in the destruction with horror-filled eyes. “I-I don’t know, My Lord,” he said. “The last thing I remember…” 

Voldemort snarled and met Lucius’ confused gaze, forcing his way deep into the man’s mind. Lucius flinched under Voldemort’s attack but did not struggle. Voldemort dug through Lucius’ memories, searching for what had caused the attack, only to be met with an empty space where a memory should be. 

Damn. 

Voldemort drew out Lucius’ mind, a snarl etched into his face. “You’ve been obliviated.” he hissed, dropping his hold on Lucius’ shoulder and stepped back. “You must have known something about what happened, but it's gone now.” 

As much as Voldemort wanted to know what had happened, to try and undo the _obliviate_ on Lucius’ mind could drive him insane. Voldemort still had use for Lucius, and it would be a waste to turn the man into a vegetable trying to find out what happened. 

“ **Why would someone erase the knowledge of what happened**?” Death asked, floating a few inches off the ground next to Voldemort. “ **Wouldn’t they want you to know they attacked**?” 

“If this was a political attack, sure,” Voldemort conceded, ignoring Lucius’s confused look as he talked to air. Lucius had a concussion, so Voldemort wasn’t too concerned about looking crazy in front of him. “But this might have been a distraction.” 

“ **It’s a pretty big distraction** ,” Death replied. “ **Not very subtle either**.” 

“Perhaps whoever set this off took valuable information,” Voldemort said, crossing his arms behind his back as he paced. “The bomb must have destroyed whatever evidence they left behind in the building.” 

“ **But why obliviate Lucius**?” Death asked. “ **Do you think he saw whoever did it? Tried to stop it**?” 

“No, if this was an act of espionage, they wouldn’t have left Lucius alive,” Voldemort said, shaking his head. “They would’ve killed him, not obliviated him. No loose ends.” 

“ **A spy with morals**?” 

Voldemort froze. He spun around to face Death, his hands clenched tightly around his forearms. “What did you say?” he demanded, stepping closer to the floating being. 

Death frowned. “ **A spy with morals. Maybe they didn’t want to kill unless they had to**.” 

“Anyone could’ve died in that explosion,” Voldemort whispered, his eyes flitting around the destruction. “People got hurt. Whoever set off that bomb must have known that. So why didn’t they kill Lucius?” 

“ **The bomb was indirect** ,” Death argued. “ **To kill Lucius, they would’ve had to do it themselves. They would have seen it happen. It’s more personal. A bomb going off isn’t as personal. Easier to justify**.” 

“Someone needed information badly enough to destroy an entire building and obliviate the Minister,” Voldemort said quietly, his eyes widening in realization. “Someone with twisted morals who wouldn’t want to get their own hands dirty. Someone who has a grudge against me…” 

“ **You think you know who did this**?” Death asked, looking back at him. 

“No, I _know_ who did this,” Voldemort snarled. “This has Dumbledore and his damned, ‘Greater good’ written all over it!” 

“ **What could Dumbledore possibly need from the New Ministry**?”

Voldemort let his gaze travel back to Lucius’ slumped form. “Information,” he hissed. “Something he could use against me.” 

“ **Like what**?” 

“I don’t know! My strengths! My ranks! My allies! My weaknesses---” 

Voldemort froze, could feel his entire body turn to ice. Beside him, Death sucked in a sharp breath, whirling around to look at him with horror. For a moment everything was frozen still, and then Voldemort’s heart set off racing in his chest. 

“Little One!” he hissed. “He’s already used him against me before! Merlin, he wouldn’t be so stupid, would he? Of course, he would!” 

“ **Little One is safe, though** ,” Death argued. “ **He’s still in the Castle. Dumbledore doesn’t know how to get through the wards**!” 

“No,” Voldemort said, his eyes wide. “But Lucius does.” 

“ **No** \---”

Voldemort didn’t stick around long enough to hear whatever Death was saying. He apparated instantly, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Dumbledore knew that Little One was his one and only weakness! He knew that without him by his side, Voldemort could lose himself. 

Voldemort thought that he’d learned his lesson last time, but if Dumbledore was the one to blow up the New Ministry, then he must have taken important information---breaking wards, for instance---out of Lucius’ mind. He knew that Voldemort would have to leave the castle if the New Ministry building exploded, leaving Little One unguarded. 

Voldemort landed in front of the castle, his apparition zone blocked by something. Voldemort felt like the air in his lungs had been torn out when he saw half of his castle on fire. He could feel the fear and grief and seething rage build up inside of him before his magic exploded outward. With a scream, his magic vanished the fire instantly. 

Voldemort apparated into Little One’s bedroom directly, his heart dropping when he felt no wards around the room. He landed and fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he took in the sight before him. 

Little One’s beautiful fairy garden room was trashed. There were scorch marks all around the room, showing where there had been a fire. Charred remains of flowers and trees littered the ground, and Voldemort can’t see Little One. 

He can’t see---

“Little One,” he calls, his voice breaking. “Where are you, baby? Come to Papa, please.” 

There is no answer, and it’s so eerily similar to the first time Little One was taken away from him, that it steals his breath. Suddenly, Voldemort can’t breathe anymore. He gasps for air, his hand coming up to clutch at his neck, but there is no air to breathe in. His lungs refuse to function properly, and suddenly Voldemort’s dying---

He’s dying, dying, _dying_ \---

“ **You’re not dying** ,” Death says, kneeling next to him. Voldemort shudders out a sob and gasps for air. “ **Breathe. You’re not dying. You need to breathe**.” 

Voldemort claws at his throat, willing himself to breathe as he sucks in a harsh gasp, and his eyes fill with tears when he feels his lungs inflate. Voldemort heaves out another sob and coughs as air fills his lungs once more. Death pulls him into a tight embrace, and Voldemort clutches the front of Death’s shirt as he sobs. 

Voldemort isn’t sure how long he sits there crying before he regains his composure, but it's long enough for his legs to go numb and his feet to prickle from the pins and needles. Finally, Voldemort pulls away from Death’s tight embrace to look around the destruction. 

He feels hollow, empty like there’s nothing of him left. He’s reminded once again of Death’s strange behavior from earlier, remembers the way the being begged him not to go, but refused to explain. His chest clenched as he sucked in another sharp breath. 

“Did you know?” he asks, his voice scratchy and hoarse.

“ **What**?” 

Voldemort whirls around to face him, digging his pointed finger into Death’s chest. “Did. You. Know?” he demands. 

“ **I… I didn’t know _this_ would happen, I**\---” 

“But you knew something was going to happen, right?” Voldemort snarls. Death opens his mouth but Voldemort cuts him off, refusing to hear his false platitudes. “No! My son is _gone_ \---” his voice cracked but Voldemort soldiered on. “---and you’ve been acting weird all night! So now you’re going to tell me what the _hell_ is going on or you’re going to leave! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” 

“ **I couldn’t interfere**.” Death whispered, his head hung low as his eyes filled with guilt and regret. “ **My Sister made a plan. I had no choice**.” 

“Where is my baby?” Voldemort demanded. 

“ **I’m so sorry**.” 

“WHERE IS MY SON?!” Voldemort screamed. “WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS HE? TELL ME---” 

“ **I don’t know** ,” Death cried, a tear escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. “ **I don’t know where he is. I’m so sorry**.” 

Voldemort was frozen, his mouth wide open but no words were coming out. His hands were trembling and his eyes were watering from the smoke. He wanted to curse something, hurt something, _kill_ something. He wanted his son back! He wanted---

He could hear a weak quack from the right, and suddenly Voldemort was on his feet. He ran over to a half-charred bush and knelt down to see Larry huddled up under the leaves. His fingers shook as he gently pet the soft duckling, his eyes filling with tears. 

Putting their dispute on a mental truce, Voldemort pulled the duckling out of the bush, his yellow fuzz covered in ash and dirt. The duckling let out another weak quack before nuzzling into Voldemort’s thumb, and his face hardened with determination. 

He turned back to face Death, who was still kneeling on the ground and snarled, “I’m going to go get my son back. Come find me if you want to help.” 

And with that, he turned and marched out of the charred remains of his son’s bedroom, placing Larry on his bed so he could rest. Little One would be so happy to see Larry once Voldemort got him back.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place  
Two Hours Earlier**  
  
  
Albus was silent as everyone yelled, their confusion and fear evident in their eyes as they shouted and pounded against the table. Their voices overlapped each other, and Albus simply sat still, watching them quietly. They had all been called from their beds for an emergency meeting, and it was clear that they didn’t know what was happening. 

Finally, Molly cried out, “SILENCE!” the table fell quiet as they all turned to look at the redhead. “Now then, Albus, please explain what’s happening. I just heard the New Ministry building exploded and the next thing I know you’re calling an emergency meeting.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “Did something happen?” 

“Obviously something did, or we wouldn’t be here right now!” Alastor snapped, ignoring the dirty look Sirius sent him in response. 

“Please be calm, everyone,” Albus said, raising his hands. “There is no need to argue. In fact, we should all celebrate!” 

“Celebrate?” Remus asked, his face drawn up with confusion. “Celebrate what? Albus, what’s going on?” 

“Well, I wanted to tell everyone all at once, but I suppose Severus was caught up with something,” Albus said, noting Severus’ absence with disapproval. “No matter. I’ll share the good news with him later.” 

“What good news?” Sirius demanded. “What’s going on?” 

“The Dark Lord will soon be defeated.” Albus said with a smile. He expected shouts of joy and excitement, but he was met with silence and confused glances. 

“What are you talking about?” Molly asked carefully.

“I’ve successfully infiltrated the Dark Lord’s castle,” Albus said, smiling at their surprised faces. “I was able to take back Harry Potter and place him somewhere safe. Without him, the Dark Lord will be distracted enough for us to duel. It won’t be long now.” 

Sirius slammed his fists onto the table as he stood, leveling a deep glare in Albus’ direction. “What did you say?” 

“Now, I know you’re worried about James’ and Lily’s boy, Sirius,” Albus said. “But you don’t need to be. He’s perfectly safe.” 

“He’s my godson! Where is he?!” Sirius demanded. “What did you do to him?”

Albus sighed. “It was for the Greater Good---” 

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ DID YOU DO?!” Sirius screamed, whipping out his wand to point at Albus threateningly. 

“I did what was necessary to win this war,” Albus said gravely. “You should be grateful. Thanks to me, Harry Potter is no longer in the hands of that monster.” 

Sirius lunged at him. “YOU---” he didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, however, as Albus quickly fired a stunner at him. Sirius fell to the ground, unconscious, while the rest of the Order stared at him with horror. 

“Albus, what have you done?!” Molly cried. “What’s gotten into you---” 

“I apologize, Molly,” Albus said softly, standing up and taking out his wand. “But I really must be going now. I appreciate all your help.” 

Before anyone could say anything, Albus struck them with a wide-spread _stupefy_ , rendering them all unconscious. He sent one last look at his fallen comrades before he sighed. “It’s for the Greater Good.” 

He apparated away, leaving the unconscious Order members behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! This book is almost finished, you guys! There are only a couple of chapters left! What do you think is going to happen? Where did Dumbledore take Little One? Is Voldemort going to find him before... 
> 
> ~~hehehe~~
> 
> **FANFICTION REC:** My Father is a Dark Lord! written by Tempresslove  
> This is a hilarious Tomarry fanfiction where Harry dies and is reincarnated into a baby. Lucius, Bellatrix and Voldemort find baby harry and adopt him! It's a slowburn Tomarry fic, but it's so promising guys! You should totally check it out!  
> \-------------------  
> Fate: **It's time**  
>  Fate: **Are you ready my chosen?**


	47. 45: A Race Against Time

_**-December 4, 1991-**_  
“ _Enervate_.” 

Sirius shooks up, a loud gasp tearing its way out of his throat. He was stunned to see Severus standing over him, his face twisted in a deep, grim scowl. His eyes glance around the room to see everyone in the Order unconscious on the floor. He slowly stands, his hand coming up to rub his head as he tries to remember what happened. 

“What the _hell_ happened here?!” Severus demands, turning around to wake the other members. Sirius furrows his brows for a second before he remembers, his eyes shooting wide as he recalls the way Dumbledore knocked everyone out after he kidnapped Little One. 

“Dumbledore went crazy!” Sirius cried. “He started going nuts, talking about the ‘Greater Good’ before he hit everyone with a wide-ranged _Stupefy_ and left!” 

“He what?” Severus asked, his eyes wide with shock as he spun around to face Sirius. He was so close, Sirius could feel his breath against his cheek, and though it was a very inappropriate time, Sirius was suddenly reminded of the way he’d confessed a few days ago. Sirius fought to maintain an indifferent mask. “Why would he do that? He just alienated everyone in the Order!” 

“WHERE IS THAT MAN?!” a sudden screech interrupted the pair. In their distraction, Molly Weasley had been awoken, and she was not happy. 

“Molly---” Arthur, now awake, was attempting to calm his wife, with no success. 

“What did you mean when you said he was talking about the ‘Greater Good’?” Severus said, drawing Sirius’ attention away from the shrieking Molly. “What does that mean?” 

“He kidnapped Little One,” Remus said, stepping towards them. His eyes were flashing amber with rage, causing Severus to stiffen. Severus’ eyes widened when he processed Remus’ words. “Said he took him so he could defeat the Dark Lord.” 

“He did _what_?!” Severus hissed, his eyes flashing towards the Order members who were waking up. Severus tugged Sirius and Remus into a corner, away from the grumpy Order members so that he could speak freely. “What else did he say?!”

“Nothing that could help us find him,” Sirius said bitterly, his eyes flashing with rage as he recalled the way Dumbledore had vaguely told them about his plan while assuring them that Little One wouldn’t be harmed. “Seriously, what happened to him? He’s changed!” 

“He’s the same as he’s always been,” Severus said with a scoff. “You just never saw it.” 

“Does he know yet?” Remus asked, interrupting Sirius before he had the chance to comment. “What’s going on at the castle?” 

“I don’t know,” Severus replied, his face drawn into a grimace. “I came as soon as I could. I was in the middle of a potion. If the Dark Lord knows, he hasn’t called us to him.” 

“Shit…” Sirius said softly, bracing his forehead against his palm. “He is going to be _pissed_.” 

“Boys!” the sharp voice of Molly drew the trio out of their stilted conversation. “Come over here! We need to discuss what we’re going to do!” 

“I am an adult, Mrs. Weasley,” Severus replied tersely. “I’d appreciate it if you treated me like one.” 

Molly merely gave Severus an unimpressed look before waving them over. Sirius followed Remus with a pensive face, struggling to recall any hints that Dumbledore may have dropped about what happened. If what he said was true, if he really did kidnap Little One, there was going to be hell to pay. 

“We should split up and look for him,” Remus said. “Severus, Sirius and I could check his home while you check Hogwarts?” 

“You really think he’d keep the Inferius at Hogwarts?” Moody asked with a loud scoff. Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Just leave him. I’m sure the man had a good reason.” 

“A good reason to knock everyone unconscious?” Sirius snapped. “What happened to Constant Vigilance, eh?” 

“Do you tell everyone your secrets when you’re trying to stop a war?” Moody replied gruffly, causing Sirius to grit his teeth. 

“We’re not at war anymore!” Sirius cried, startling everyone. “Look around, Moody! People are at peace! There is no fighting in the streets! No subjugation of Muggles or Muggleborn! Pull your heads out of your arses and think for a bloody second!” 

“But the Dark Lord---” Molly started, but Sirius wasn’t finished. 

“The Dark Lord hasn’t done any of the things Dumbledore said he would! Not a single one!” Sirius seethed. “Right now, all I see is a group of people following an old man fighting a war that isn’t happening! Are you seriously okay with someone knocking you unconscious and kidnapping a toddler from their father?” 

It was silent for a long time as everyone processed his words. Finally, Molly looked at him, her hands trembling as she wrung them in front of her chest. “He’s not the Dark Lord’s son,” she said quietly, causing Sirius to draw in a sharp breath. “He’s Lily and James’ boy. He’s your godson. Are you really okay with the Dark Lord raising him?” 

Sirius’ breath caught in the back of his throat at the question, his eyes widening. Was he really okay with it? What a loaded question. Sirius hated it at first; seeing his godson with the man responsible for so much death and destruction. But as he watched the man and served him, he could see just how much the Dark Lord cared about Little One. 

The Dark Lord loved Little One. He loved him the way Little One should’ve been loved by his relatives. He loved him the way Little One deserved. The way Lily and James would have wanted.

Sirius drew in a short breath, his eyes closing for a brief second as he wrangled with the grief inside of him. When he’d composed himself, Sirius opened his eyes and leveled Molly with a dangerous glare that had the woman stiffening. “I just want what’s best for him,” he said in a dangerously level tone. “The Dark Lord has been raising Harry like his own. Loving him the way his parents would’ve wanted.” 

“Sirius---”

“Dumbledore left him to rot with abusive relatives.” Sirius snapped, causing everyone to freeze. “If not for him, Harry would be alive.” 

The silence was tense, brisk from Sirius’ rage. Molly’s eyes were wide, small tears glistening at the bottom of her lashes as she stared at him. Sirius was practically trembling with rage, the underhanded attempt at emotional manipulation made Sirius want to scream. He had more important things to deal with than the Order’s politics.

“We’re going to look for Dumbledore,” Remus said, breaking the awkward silence. He patted Sirius’ shoulder and pulled him back from the confrontational stance that Sirius had unconsciously adopted. “Just… Please, keep an eye out for him. Okay?” 

“We’ll do that,” Arthur said, wrapping an arm around Molly’s shoulder as he nodded. “Go. Look for him. We’ll do what we can here.” 

“Thank you.” Remus said before he turned around, his hand sliding down from Sirius’ shoulder to his hand, squeezing it gently as he tugged Sirius out the door, Severus following behind silently. 

Sirius stopped when they were standing outside the door, his breath coming out in controlled moments. Remus squeezed his hand again, looking at him with concern. “I’m good.” he said, breathing in deeply before he stood up straight. “Let’s go to the castle and see what we can do to help.” 

Severus nodded and the trio apparated to the Dark Lord’s castle only to freeze as they took in the destruction in front of them. The Dark Lord’s castle was destroyed; half of the castle was collapsed into rubble, the other half covered in the scorch marks of a put-out fire. 

“Oh, Merlin…” Remus said in a drawn out-breath. 

There was an enraged scream that pierced through the horrified silence before Severus fell to the ground screaming. Sirius and Remus froze before they dropped into a bow as the Dark Lord stomped over to them. His magic was oppressive, filling the air and suffocating them with it’s murderous energy. 

Sirius had never seen the Dark Lord this enraged. It was terrifying. 

Severus’ agonized screams filled the air for a long time. Sirius was trembling as he listened to the dour potions master screech and writhe about on the ground in agony. When the Dark Lord finally lifted the curse, Sirius let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Speak.” the Dark Lord demanded, his voice cut Sirius’ soul, sending fearful trembles down his spine. The voice was full of murderous, homicidal rage---it was the voice of a powerful Dark Lord whose son was taken from him. This voice would haunt Sirius for the rest of his life. 

“Dumbledore has him,” Severus said, and Sirius was impressed at how steady his voice was. “He informed the Order that he took him without telling us where. He then knocked everyone out and disappeared.” 

The Dark Lord let out another enraged cry before his magic lashed out, causing Sirius to flinch as he heard the ground crack under him. “WHAT USE ARE YOU TO ME?!” he snarled, whipping his hand out to grip Severus’ throat tightly, lifting him up and holding him above the ground. Severus let out choked noises as he struggled to breathe. 

Sirius met Severus’ wide eyes, his own eyes filled with fear as he remained helpless. There was nothing he could do for Severus. To intervene now would mean death to everyone here. “M-My Lo-ord---” 

The Dark Lord let out a wordless exclamation of seething rage before he threw Severus to the ground. “Find him! He needs to be found! _NOW_!” the Dark Lord screamed. “There isn’t much time left!” 

“M-My Lord?” Severus asked, his hand coming up to gently rest on his throat, finger-shaped bruises already starting to appear. 

“Tell me, Severus, what do you know about Inferi?” the Dark Lord demanded, his words bordering onto a hiss. Severus opened his mouth, but it seemed the Dark Lord wasn’t looking for a response as he continued. “They need a constant input of magic. Without it, they will eventually devolve and become nothing more than mindless husks. Once they’ve reached this state, there is no return.” 

The Dark Lord leveled them with a glare so full of rage, it stuck Sirius to the very ground. His eyes were impossibly wide as he processed what the Dark Lord was telling them. Was Little One in danger of devolving? Didn’t that happen over a long period of time? 

“The anniversary of Little One’s death is approaching,” the Dark Lord continued. “That is when the revitalization of magic in his body is most effective. He will soon begin the process of devolution, and if he is not around my magical signature when it starts, he will devolve faster. It is imperative that we find him soon. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, My Lord,” Severus said, stumbling his way into a bow. “We will not rest until he is found.” 

“See to it that you don’t,” the Dark Lord commanded. “I suspect we have less than a week before Little One devolves without my magic to slow it. Find him.” 

“Yes, My Lord.” 

“Well? Why are you still here?” the Dark Lord snarled. “GO! FIND MY SON!” 

Sirius apparated away at the dismissal, arriving in front of Grimmauld Place, Severus and Remus appearing seconds later. Severus was holding his neck gingerly, darkened bruises lining his throat. “Where would Dumbledore take him?” Sirius asked. “And what is he talking about? Devolving?” 

“Honestly, Black,” Severus scoffed. “Inferi are creatures of magic. Without magic to sustain them, they lose their cognition and function. They become little more than muggle zombies, no soul left in them.” 

Sirius froze. “We have a week to find Little One or he becomes a zombie?” 

“Leave it to you to oversimplify an incredibly complex magical process,” Severus rolled his eyes. “We have a week to find Little One and return him to the Dark Lord so that his magic can stabilize him, or we risk losing Little One for good.” 

Sirius' eyes widened at the blunt answer. “Well… shit.”

* * *

Gellert watched as his ex-lover appeared in his cell carrying a bundle of blankets. Or, what appeared to be a bundle of blankets. It wasn’t until Albus set the blankets on the ground and began casting nonverbal protection spells all over them did Gellert realize that the bundle of blankets was holding a _child_. 

Gellert let out a horrified noise at the sight of a silently crying child sitting in a pile of blankets on the floor. “Albus what---” he cut himself off, his eyes leaving the child to see Albus’ triumphant face. “Why is there a little boy in this cell?” 

“This is how I save the world,” Albus said, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. “With him out of the way, the Dark Lord will be unsteady, making it easy to take him down.” 

Gellert froze. “The Dark Lord…? Albus is that Voldemort’s son?!” 

“This is Harry Potter,” Albus said, casting another protection spell on the shivering child. “I’ve rescued him from Voldemort, and he’s just going to stay here for a little while until it’s safe. Once I’ve dealt with Voldemort, I’ll return him to his godfather.” 

“Albus this is… this is _madness_!” Gellert cried. “Look at yourself! You just kidnapped a child to use against his father! Even I never did that---” 

“I’m doing what needs to be done!” Albus argued. “This is the only way to save our world!”

Gellert just glanced at the child Albus had taken, his eyes taking in the way the child huddled in on himself and shivered, his eyes wide with fear as they darted between Albus and himself, tears trailing down his cheeks, red from the cold. He shook his head silently, looking at Albus with pity. 

“You’ve changed,” he said softly. “You are not the man I fell in love with.”

Albus sucked in a deep breath before he responded. “I’m the same man I’ve always been,” he said. “You’re the one who changed. I’m still willing to do what’s necessary for the Greater Good.” 

With that, Albus turned to cast one final protection charm on the child before he left, a loud _crack_ echoing across the cell signaling his retreat. Gellert was left in silence, his eyes taking in the huddled form of a scared child. 

“Hey there…” he said softly, frowning at the child’s flinch. “Harry, right? It’s okay. I’m so sorry this happened, but everything is going to be okay.” 

The child slowly lifted his head, emerald green eyes looking at him with fear. Gellert smiled, doing his best to look friendly, but he only succeeded in freaking him out more, as the child whimpered and scooted back until he was up against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

“My name is Gellert,” Gellert continued, hoping to put the child at ease. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry, even under these circumstances.” 

The boy looked at him suspiciously before he leaned his head back against the wall, allowing Gellert to see the stitches lining his neck. Gellert bit back a gasp at the sight before he looked closer at the child, taking in the odd mannerisms of him before his eyes widened with realization. 

The boy in front of him was an Inferius! 

Gellert frowned, though, when he saw the way Harry’s skin was losing it’s color, a trembling hand coming up to scratch at his stitches nervously. Harry was a well-made Inferius, made properly so that one wouldn’t know he was an Inferius unless they looked closer. 

But Gellert was familiar with Inferi, and he could see that the child in front of him was getting ready to devolve. Albus must have taken him away right around the anniversary of his death, which means he’d need more magic soon. 

Contrary to common belief, to revitalize an Inferius, one doesn’t necessarily have to use the same magic that brought the Inferius back to life. Any magic could do, however, it was more common for the wizard who performed the ritual in the first place to continue supplying it with magic. 

From the looks of it, though, Harry might not last long enough to wait for his father’s magic. Gellert bit back a curse. If only he wasn’t wearing the magic-canceling chains, he could perform the ritual himself and save the Inferius. 

Gellert sighed and rested his head against the knee. Hopefully whoever was looking for the child would find them soon. Gellert wasn’t sure how much time Harry had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. So, Little One's gone and no one is dealing with it well. AHH! I can't believe this story is almost finished! Wow, I put so much love and effort into this, and it's almost finished! You guys... I'm so proud of my quarantine baby ^O^
> 
> **Fanfiction Rec:** Life Will Never Be the Same Part One written by NightRaven789  
> This is a super cute Severitus fic where Snape is sent to check on Harry only to find Harry being abused! He decides to adopt little Harry (who is autistic, which I think is incredible!) and give him a new home. This book is really good and it really dives into Snape's intimacy issues. Go check it out!!!!  
> \-------------------  
> Author: Does anyone know how to create a challenge on AO3?   
> Author: I want to make a challenge for you all about my Canon!Harry side story where you all write the canon!characters of your favorite fandoms (doesn't have to be Harry Potter) meeting the characters of your fanfiction/your favorite fanfiction.   
> Author: Please let me know in the comments down below if anyone is interested in doing that as well as some helpful instructions on how to create a challenge on AO3  
> Author: THANK YOU!! <3 <3


	48. 46: Pink is the Deadliest Color

_**-December 6, 1991-**_  
Draco woke up in the morning with the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, especially since everything had been going so well lately. His grades were doing fantastic, he hadn’t had a fight with any of his friends recently and his mother wanted him to come visit over the weekend. Nothing pointed to misfortune, so when he woke up in the morning with a foreboding feeling and anxiety bubbling in his stomach, Draco didn’t know what to do. 

He knew that he was acting weird since his friends kept giving him weird looks as he went through the motions of getting ready for the day. Theo actually stopped him on the way to the Great Hall with a concerned look in his eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

Draco shrugged---something so uncouth would have made his mother purse her lips, but Draco was too bothered to care. The motion, though, only made Theo more concerned. “It’s… It’s probably nothing…” Draco said to appease his best friend. 

“What is?” Theo asked as they made their way through the halls of Hogwarts. 

“I just have a weird feeling, is all,” Draco said, his grey eyes scanning the stone walls and portraits for any sign of trouble. “Has something happened lately? Something bad, I mean.” 

“I don’t think so,” Theo frowned. “You think something is wrong?” 

“I don’t really know,” Draco responded glumly. “I’m probably just being paranoid. I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

Theo eyed him dubiously for a few seconds before he nodded. “If you’re sure.” he said, but Draco could tell he didn’t believe him. That was just fine seeing as Draco didn’t believe himself either. 

The pair continued their venture to the Great Hall in silence after that, the comfortable and familiar noises of Hogwarts doing nothing to ease Draco’s anxiety. When Draco arrived in the Great Hall he was surprised to see the Headmaster missing. It was odd for the students to arrive before him. 

The food was already laid out on the table when they sat down, the delicious smell momentarily distracting Draco from his ominous feeling as he filled his plate. Beside him, Theo eyed him for a few moments before he followed suit. Draco ate silently, half paying attention to Pansy and Blaise as they argued over schoolwork. 

“I’m telling you that it’s due today! Not next week!” Pansy exclaimed, throwing a dangerous glare at Blaise who continued to scoff. 

“No, it’s not!” he refuted, jamming a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Crabbe and Goyle both agree with me. It’s due next week.” 

“You’d listen to those buffoons?” Pansy scoffed. “They were sleeping in Charms, so how would they know?” 

Draco slowly ate his breakfast, watching with mild disinterest as the argument between the pair escalated until it began to involve some of the other students sitting around them. Beside him, Theo shook his head fondly at the pair. “Pansy’s right,” he whispered so that only Draco would hear. “Blaise knows it too. He’s just making a big deal out of it to get a rise out of her.” 

“I know.” Draco said with a conspiring smirk. Watching the pair dance around each other was getting old. Draco knew that they’d eventually get together, but waiting for them to pull their heads out of the sand was getting tiring. 

Just as Pansy was about to storm off in a fit of anger, the pair’s argument was interrupted by the arrival of the morning mail. Hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping off letters to the students and teachers alike. Draco’s stomach dropped, however, when he spotted his mother’s owl flying towards him with a letter. 

His mother had sent him a letter a few days ago, and it was odd for her to send two letters in one week. Suddenly, the eggs he’d been chewing tasted like ash in his mouth. He saw Theo give him a concerned glance as his mother’s owl dropped off a heavy letter by his plate. Draco nervously handed the owl a few strips of bacon before he picked up the letter. 

_My Dearest Dragon_ , it read. _I am writing to inform you that there’s been an incident. Your father was injured in the New Ministry two days ago, I’m not sure if you’ve heard about the attack. Though it is not public knowledge, the Dark Lord believes Albus Dumbledore attacked your father, blew up the New Ministry building and kidnapped Little One. Please be careful, Dragon. I don’t know what that man is planning, but it can’t be good. I’m afraid that with the recent news, it would be prudent for you to remain at Hogwarts instead of coming to visit. I will keep you informed, but my priority is to keep you safe. I love you, and please, don’t do anything rash._

Draco’s face had steadily grown paler as he read the letter, his well-crafted mask breaking at the shocking news. His head snapped up when his mother mentioned the Headmaster, his silver eyes locking on the empty seat at the teacher’s table where the Headmaster should sit. 

“Draco?” Draco turned his head to meet Theo’s worried gaze. “Are you alright? What is it?” 

Draco bit his lip, the letter crinkling in his hands as he clenched them. “Not here.” he whispered, his eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed his lapse of control. Thankfully, no one had noticed save for Theo, Blaise and Pansy. Said people were looking at him with nervousness, unsure of what was going on. “Come with me.” 

Draco stood, making sure to remain calm and poised so as not to raise any suspicion, and he began to walk out of the Great Hall, subtly glancing behind him to make sure his friends were following. They walked in tense silence for a few minutes before they reached the empty Slytherin Common Room. 

Once they were situated, Draco cast a quick muffling charm before he pulled out his mother’s letter. “Mother wrote me,” he said. “She said that father had been attacked by the Headmaster.” 

“What?” Pansy gasped. “But why would he do such a thing?” 

“Little One was taken again,” Draco said, his eyebrows drawing together with rage at the thought of his pseudo little brother being kidnapped by the Headmaster again. Beside him, Pansy let out a harsh gasp while Theo and Blaise hardened with anger. “The Dark Lord is looking for him, but the Headmaster is missing.” 

“Oh, poor Little One!” Pansy cried. “He must be so scared! How could this happen? Is there another traitor?” 

“I don’t know,” Draco sighed. “Mother said that Headmaster Dumbledore attacked father and blew up the New Ministry. How have we not heard about it?” 

“It must have been covered up to avoid a panic,” Theo said with a frown. “But why would he blow up the building? And attack your father? What could he possibly gain from that?” 

“Maybe he was the one who took Little one,” Blaise proposed. “The explosion must have been a distraction.” 

“And they say he’s a Light Lord.” Theo scoffed, bitterly shaking his head before he turned to address Draco. “Do you think this is why you’ve been feeling weird?” 

“Weird? What do you mean?” Blaise asked. 

“I woke up with a weird feeling this morning,” Draco explained. “I felt like something bad was going to happen.” he frowned before he answered Theo. “I don’t know, maybe? I keep having these weird dreams, too---” 

“Dreams? What are they about?” Theo asked. 

“I… I don’t really know,” Draco said honestly, his mind flashing back to the strange encounters he’d had. “I’m just in a void of nothingness, I suppose, and I feel someone talking to me. A presence. It calls me a ‘guardian’.” 

“A guardian?” 

Draco nodded. “The last dream I had, the voice told me that I had to protect the Master. Whoever that is,” Draco sighed. “The voice was really urgent. It kept telling me that I had to hurry.” 

“What do you think it means?” Theo asked. 

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Draco said with a slight shake of his head. “I thought they were just dreams but I wonder…” 

“Do you think it's about Little One?” Pansy asked, causing Draco’s head to snap up. “I mean, Little One is missing and you’ve always guarded him so…” 

“But if the Master is Little One…” Draco frowned. “How am I supposed to protect him? I don’t even know where he is?” 

Draco felt a slight chill run down his spine, his head rising in confusion. The dorms were chilly, yes, but never this cold. He sighed, burying his face in his hands. Of course, he’d think about something as silly as a draft when his little brother needed saving! He didn’t know what to do! Draco had never felt so useless before, and the feeling was practically drowning him. 

Draco let out another sad sigh and he felt a cold hand gently touch his back.

* * *

The inferius child was starting to devolve faster, and Gellert didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He was completely helpless with the damned magic-canceling cuffs on his wrists, and the chains prevented him from getting close to the boy. Not that the child would appreciate his closeness, Gellert supposed. From what he could see of the boy, Harry had curled up into a ball in the corner, gently rocking himself back and forth to soothe himself as his hands picked at the stitches on his neck and tore roughly at his hair. 

There wasn’t much time left, at all. 

The Inferius was steadily getting closer and closer to feral, and Gellert knew that the second that happened, the boy would be lost for good. Gellert had never heard of a wizard being able to bring a feral Inferius back to functional. Said Inferius let out another barely audible whine and hugged himself tighter as a cold breeze flew through the cell. 

“Do you want a blanket?” Gellert asked, his voice hoarse and cracked. The Inferius didn’t respond, but Gellert didn’t expect him to. “Here, there’s a blanket right here. It’s not much, but it should keep you warm.”

He really wished the Inferius would let him help him, but Harry was as uncooperative as ever. It was moments like these that made Geller wonder about the boy. How did he die? How did the Dark Lord find him? Why was Albus so obsessed with him? From what he had noticed in the two days that the Inferius had been trapped here, something terrible had happened to the boy. Gellert was no fool, and he was also no stranger to the signs of abuse. 

Someone had hurt the child, and Gellert could only hope that it wasn’t the Dark Lord. 

The familiar sound of footsteps echoed off the frozen stone walls, forcing Gellert to abandon his dark thoughts and look up to see his former lover walking into the cell. He had heavy bags under his eyes that showed that he hadn’t been sleeping. Good, Gellert thought vindictively. 

“You’ll be pleased to know my plan is working perfectly,” the man said in lieu of a greeting. Gellert just scoffed. “Voldemort is completely unhinged at the loss of Harry Potter, which will make defeating him much easier.” 

“The boy is sick, Albus,” Gellert hissed, gesturing towards the poor child huddled up in the corner. “Take him back to his father. Now.” 

Albus’ eyes darted over to the Inferius, briefly glancing over him before he returned his gaze to Gellert. Gellert was disappointed but unsurprised to see no regret in his eyes. “A necessary evil, I’m afraid,” Albus said with a shake of his head. “Due to the tether between the boy and Voldemort, the Dark Lord can feel Harry’s control slipping, which only aids my plans.” 

“You will lose him if you keep this up,” Gellert warned. “You can’t bring a feral Inferius back. You just can’t.” 

“Harry Potter will not be harmed, Gellert, you have my word.” Albus promised, his twinkling blue eyes firm with determination. 

Gellert just shook his head with disbelief. “He’s already been harmed,” he argued. “You kidnapped an abused toddler from his father. And for what? Your own selfish bigotry? When will it end, Albus?” 

“It will end with Voldemort’s death,” Albus said, his voice grave. “I’m afraid I have to leave now, old friend, I was merely stopping by.” Albus turned on his heel and began to walk out. 

“You can’t do this, Albus!” Gellert shouted after him. “This is madness!” 

“I’ll be sending someone to watch after you once I’m gone,” Albus responded as he closed the cell door, completely ignoring Gellert’s protests. “I’m going to go fight another Dark Lord, and I’m afraid I’ll be much too busy to come and check up on you.” 

“Albus, you bloody---” but it was too late. With a loud crack of apparition, Albus had disappeared, leaving a traumatized Inferius huddled in the corner, and an enraged Dark Lord, plotting, not for the first time, his ex-lover’s glorious demise.

* * *

There was a warrant out for his arrest, which made his life slightly more difficult, but it was nothing Albus wasn’t prepared for. Tom had an incredibly unhealthy relationship with Harry Potter, one that fostered too much dependency on each other. Albus was honestly surprised when he discovered his old student turned dark had made an attachment in the first place. Albus knew that boy could not love, didn’t know how to experience such an emotion, but what he did know how to feel was obsession. 

Lord Voldemort, formerly Tom Riddle was obsessed with Harry Potter. 

Though it was incredibly unhealthy, Albus was rather grateful for the emotion because it made defeating him much easier. Now that Voldemort was unhinged, due to the loss of Harry, it would be simple to challenge him to a duel and win, much like he did with Gellert. 

Speaking of, Albus needed someone to watch over Gellert and Harry while he dealt with Voldemort. He wasn’t sure how long it would take, but one could never be too sure when it came to taking care of living people. 

Albus had the perfect person in mind for the job, as well. Someone who would not report back to Voldemort because she too had been slighted by the man. It was simply too perfect. Albus had arrived outside her home, his identity covered by a thick cloak and the evening dusk. He quietly knocked on her door. 

“What do you want?” she snarled, glancing over Albus’ scraggly appearance. “I don’t give handouts to halfbreeds.” 

“Would you like to become powerful again?” Albus asked, knowing instantly that he’d asked the right thing when her eyes lit up with greed. “I heard you were fired from office. How disrespectful! After everything you’ve done for the New Ministry!” 

“I know,” she agreed, her eyes hardened with righteous anger. “It was a grave offense.” 

“I’m sure,” Albus nodded. “How would you like to become Minister?” 

The woman sputtered, her eyes wide with faked humility as the greed overtook her once more. “Why I’d be honored!” she cried. “But how would one go about such a thing?” 

“Times are changing, my dear,” Albus said. “Soon the position will be open and I believe you are the best one suited for the job.” 

“Naturally,” she nodded. She then frowned. “What’s the catch?” 

Albus grinned underneath his cloak. “I need you to watch someone for me. Just for a few days while I take care of some things. Do this, and I swear you will regain your seat of power.” 

“I suppose I could…” she said with a grin, stepping out into the light. The warm glow from the nearby candles cast a light shadow over her hideous pink dress, and as she opened the door further, a loud meowing could be heard from a plain white kitten behind her foot. Madame Umbridge held a sinister smile on her face as she shook hands with Albus. “This should prove to be interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book is almost finished! You guys, I know I said something in the last chapter, but seriously, thank you all for reading! It really means a lot to me, you have no idea!
> 
> ALSO: I have opened a prompt meme challenge, so please go check it out. It is a subcollection for the Villains Being Good Parents collection at the top of this work, and the challenge is to write a one-shot or two-shot of villains from any fandom being good or good-ish parents. Please go check it out, I'd really like it if you could! :)
> 
> **FanFiction Rec:** Tentative written by Acnara  
> This is a super cute ff where Harry is Voldemort's soulmate. I love this fic because the bond is paternal, and Voldemort kidnaps Harry from James and Lily to raise as his own son. Honestly, it's a great read, you all should check it out!  
> \--------------------  
> Umbridge: No kitties, you can't come with me  
> Kittens: _someone save me_  
>  Umbridge: Oh, I know you're going to miss mommy! Mommy is going to miss you too!  
> Kittens: _this woman is crazy_  
>  Umbridge: Bye-bye babies! Mommy loves you!  
> Kittens: _HELP US---_


	49. 47: The Showdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: Minor to moderate gore_

_**-December 7, 1991-**_  
It’s been three days since Little One was taken from him again, and Voldemort could physically feel Little One slipping. The tether that tied Voldemort’s magic to Little One was getting weaker with each day that passed. Little One needed more magic and soon, and Voldemort was no closer to finding his son than he was three days ago. He paced around the common room of his castle with agitation, ignoring the light breeze from outside that was drifting in from the destroyed west wing that Voldemort had not fixed yet. 

“ **We will find him** \---” 

“You shut up.” Voldemort snapped, whirling around to glare at Death. Today he was wearing a twenty-year-old girl with platinum blonde hair cut in a pixie cut. His eyes were a dark hazel, but the signature cheekbones were there, as they always seemed to be no matter what body Death wore. “You don’t get to talk. You knew that something was going to happen and you didn’t warn me!” 

“ **I couldn’t interfere** ,” Death said, his voice twisted with remorse. “ **I begged my Dear Sister to stop it, but it was already in motion. There was nothing I could do**!”

Voldemort just scoffed, turning around to continue his mad pacing. Little One is missing, none of his spies know where he is, no one has reported back with any information, and Dumbledore is gone. There are no leads and Voldemort has no idea what to do. He was going insane and he couldn’t think properly. In a fit of rage, Voldemort lifted a random book off the shelf and threw it across the room, listening for the satisfying smash as it collided with the wall. 

“What is she planning?” Voldemort asked, glancing back at his rueful lover. Death lifted his head when Voldemort addressed him. “Your sister. What did she plan to happen to my son?” 

Death only shook his head, his blonde hair flying into his face. “ **You know I can’t** \---”

“Can’t say anything! I got it! What use are you, then?” Voldemort snarled. “My son is gone! He could be anywhere! I can feel him slipping, don’t you understand? He’s slipping! There isn’t much time---”

Voldemort froze as his wards pinged all around him. He whipped his head to the side, his crimson eyes narrowing for a second before he darted to the side, tackling Death to the ground just as the wall exploded in on itself. The dust and rubble rained down on them for a few seconds before Voldemort stood, brushing the debris off his shoulders, and looked up to see what had caused the attack. 

Voldemort’s face twisted into an ugly sneer full of hatred at the sight of Dumbledore casually walking on his land. “You!” he snarled, throwing a curse in his direction. Dumbledore nonchalantly side-stepped the curse. “How dare you! I let you live and this is how you repay me?!”

“The time has come to end your reign of terror, Tom,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. “With you gone, England can finally heal from the scars of Dark Magic.” 

“Where is my son?!” Voldemort screamed, racing towards the man with rage, a cutting curse leaving his wand. 

There was a loud boom as Voldemort’s overpowered curse hit Dumbledore’s quickly erected shield. The impact caused both Dumbledore and Voldemort to stagger back, wind whipping past their faces. “Without you, Harry will finally have his real family.” Dumbledore said, brandishing his wand. Beside him, Voldemort could hear Death breathe in a sharp breath, but Voldemort didn’t acknowledge him. 

“I _am his real family_!” Voldemort snarled, sending hex after hex towards the shield, each hit weakening it. Just as the shield broke and Voldemort lunged forward to attack, Dumbledore dodged, a spell of his own shooting forward. 

Voldemort, being in no position to dodge, let the spell hit him, a small grunt escaping his grit teeth when the cutting curse hit his leg. Ignoring the flash of pain, Voldemort whirls around, throwing his leg under Dumbledore’s and causing the old man to crash to the ground. Despite how much Voldemort hated his upbringing, he would never regret learning muggle methods of fighting because Wizards had no idea how to defend against them. 

“You are his kidnapper!” Dumbledore retorted, apparating a few feet away from Voldemort just as Voldemort fired a killing curse. The green curse hit the ground where Dumbledore’s head had been only a few seconds earlier, leaving an ugly scorch mark in the middle of the grass. “You stole him from his loving family!” 

“His loving family murdered him without hesitation!” Voldemort screamed, dodging another spell as it hurtled past his face. “Those monsters killed my child! You’re the one who left him with them!” 

“Did they?” Dumbledore asked, using a spell to throw some of the rubble at Voldemort’s head. “Or did you? How did Harry _really_ die that night?”

Voldemort dropped to the ground as the rubble soared over his head. His eyes were wide as he forced himself to focus on the fight and not the night that his precious child was slaughtered. With a wordless screech of rage, Voldemort summoned all the shards of glass from around his castle and hurled them at Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore dodged as much of the shards as he could, but several shards managed to hit him, embedding themselves in his skin. With blood trailing down his face and arms, Dumbledore cast a barrage of different spells towards Voldemort, and Voldemort recognized one of them as the killing curse. 

Voldemort stepped out of the path of the killing curse in favor of hitting a hex that caused his knees to buckle. In the time it took Voldemort to regain his footing, Dumbledore had inched close enough to throw a cutting curse that hit its mark in Voldemort’s back. 

“Everything I do,” Dumbledore said as Voldemort rolled out of the way of another green curse. “I do for the Greater Good! I will rescue this world from your tyranny!” 

“What are you even talking about?!” Voldemort demanded, kicking Dumbledore in the shin to knock him back. When Dumbledore kneeled over for an instance, Voldemort shot up, ignoring the flames of agony in his back, and cast a killing curse. Too slow. Dumbledore apparated once again, managing to miss the killing curse by a millimeter as he reappeared a meter away from him. “What tyranny?!”

“You wish to corrupt this world with Dark Magic,” Dumbledore huffed, wiping the blood that has fallen into his eyes. “I see what you are, Tom Riddle!” 

“You are a true hypocrite,” Voldemort laughed, summoning a sword. “You speak of corruption but ignore your own wrongdoings. You kidnapped a child from his father, and for what? To fight against a foe that exists only in your head?” 

“You are not Harry Potter’s father!” Dumbledore said, and the response sent a wave of rage through Voldemort’s body. “You murdered that child, admit it! You killed him and brought him back as a weapon!” 

Dumbledore’s conclusion was so far off, Voldemort had to laugh. But even as he laughed at the stupidity of Dumbledore’s assumption, a traitorous voice in the back of his head reminded Voldemort of the night. Voldemort viciously shook his head, throwing the traitorous thought out of his head. 

“ **You cannot defeat him with a wand** ,” came Death’s voice from across the clearing. Voldemort had completely forgotten that Death was there. Voldemort slowly nodded his head so that Death knew he heard him. “ **You must fight him in a different way**.” 

“Admit it, Tom,” Dumbledore continued, bringing Voldemort’s attention back to him. “Why did you really bring Harry Potter back? Did you think I would hesitate because he was Lily and James’ boy?”

Voldemort snarled. “He’s _my_ boy!” 

With a loud crack, Voldemort apparated to Dumbledore’s side, using the man’s surprise to swing the sword at his gut. Dumbledore narrowly dodged the weapon, the tip of the sword slicing through the flesh of his side and drawing a small amount of blood. Dumbledore grunted in pain and Voldemort once again swung, this time pulling the sword down on Dumbledore’s head. 

Dumbledore let out a cry of pain as the sword sliced through his ear, the appendage falling to the ground with a spurt of blood. Dumbledore apparated away from him, but the moment Dumbledore appeared, Voldemort apparated next to him, another swing of his sword following soon after. 

A series of cracks echoed across the clearing as the dueling pair apparated again and again. Dumbledore, finally catching on to Voldemort’s strategy, stuck to his ground and threw up a shield powerful enough to send Voldemort flying back when his sword hit it. 

“I thought muggle weapons were beneath you?” Dumbledore asked, his hand clutching the shoulder that Voldemort had managed to clip with his sword. “If you think you can defeat me with a sword, Tom, you are sorely mistaken.” 

“Your pride will be your downfall, old man.” Voldemort snapped. 

Dumbledore grinned. “Funny,” he said, dropping his shield. “I was about to say the same to you!”

Voldemort lunged forward, using magic to push his body up into the air, using the momentum to swing the sword and bring it down on Dumbledore with a force hard enough to create an explosion of dirt and dust. When the debris finally cleared, instead of Dumbledore’s corpse, Voldemort was greeted with the sight of his sword pushing against Dumbledore’s. 

“You are not the only one capable of using weaponry.” Dumbledore said with a smirk. Voldemort snarled wordlessly and ripped his sword away, swinging low to hit Dumbledore’s knees. The sound of metal colliding with metal filled the clearing as the pair dueled. 

Voldemort hissed when Dumbledore’s sword nicked his face, a thin line of red spreading from his eyebrow to his chin. With his sword pushing against Dumbledore’s at the old man’s neck, Voldemort used his wand and fired a killing curse under the swords. 

Dumbledore, somehow knowing what Voldemort planned, dropped his sword in the last instance, ducking against Voldemort’s swing and apparating across the field just as Voldemort's green curse fired. Instead of hitting its desired mark, the killing curse slammed into a tree with enough force to send the tree flying.

“Surrender, Tom,” Dumbledore said. “Surrender now and make it easier on yourself. It doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.” 

“Or,” Voldemort snapped, spitting a bit of blood out of his mouth. “You can tell me where my son is and I’ll kill you quickly.” 

“Why do you insist on keeping up this charade?” Dumbledore asked, shaking his head. “I already know you killed Harry. I already know he is nothing but a weapon to you.” 

“He’s my son!” Voldemort hissed.

“He is your victim---”

“HE IS MY SON AND I LOVE HIM! YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME! GIVE HIM _BACK_!” Voldemort screamed, the pure, unadulterated rage made his mind blank for a moment as he charred towards Dumbledore, his sword raised high with the intention of cutting his head clean off.

“You don’t know the definition of love,” Dumbledore said, stepping to the side to avoid Voldemort’s attack. The momentum caused Voldemort to crash to the ground, barely giving him enough time to roll over and bring his sword up to block Dumbledore’s swing. “After you killed Harry Potter you brought him back to life to become your secret weapon. I know the truth.” 

“You know _NOTHING_!” Voldemort snarled, kicking Dumbledore in the ribs and using the old man’s distraction to stand up, stepping onto Dumbledore’s sword and pointing his own sword at Dumbledore’s neck. “You know nothing about me or my son!” 

“Don’t I?” Dumbledore asked with a raised eyebrow. 

In Voldemort’s rage, he missed Dumbledore reaching for his wand. Voldemort screeched as an unknown spell hit him directly in the chest. 

_\---the muggle was holding Harry by the throat and his son was_ dying, dying, dying _, and Voldemort saw red---_

_\---Voldemort tore his precious child out of the muggle’s grip and tossed him out of the way so that Voldemort could destroy the man who hurt his son---_

_\---the view was changing, and Voldemort was no longer cursing the muggle, but watching himself fight against his uncle. He was no longer Voldemort he was Harry---_

_\---He was flying in the air as Papa grabbed him, and Harry couldn’t breathe as Papa fought Uncle Vernon---_

_\---He was in so much pain as he hit Aunt Petunia’s fine china. Papa was still fighting Uncle Vernon but Harry’s neck felt warm and sticky. With a trembling hand, Harry touched his neck and felt Aunt Petunia’s plate embedded in his flesh---_

_\---He tried to speak and call out for Papa but it hurt too much. It hurt, it hurt, it_ hurt _, and Harry was so dizzy. Maybe he should close his eyes for a second… He could call from Papa in a minute…---_

_\---He slowly opened his eyes one last time to see Papa screaming at Aunt Petunia, but he was so tired and the pain was slowly going away. Harry closed his eyes and finally went to sleep---_

Voldemort gasped violently, shuddering as he returned to the present. He was hunched in on himself on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he shuddered against the memories.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice hoarse as the memories of Harry’s---Little One’s death flashed through his mind on repeat. He could feel it. He did feel it. He felt Little One’s death like he was Little One, saw it through his own eyes. 

“I showed you the truth,” Dumbledore said. Dumbledore stood above him, his blue eyes full of pity as he pointed his wand at Voldemort. “This spell allows you to see the truth that you desperately try to hide from yourself.” 

“No…” Voldemort whispered, his eyes wide with horror. 

_Harry was flying through the air…_

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “You know it’s true.” 

_Harry hitting the china shelf, the shards embedding themselves in Harry’s abused flesh._

“I… I killed him?” Voldemort asked, his eyes blank as he refused to process the information. 

_Harry flying through the air. Harry hitting the shelf. Harry flying through the air._

“You killed him.” Dumbledore nodded. 

_Voldemort_ throwing _Harry into the china shelf._

“I killed my son?” Voldemort repeated, and finally, the waves of grief tore through him. The pain he felt when Little One was taken from him was like a soft bed compared to this. The pain of creating his first Horcrux was like a walk in the park compared to this. The pain of being a lonely orphan, unwanted in the middle of a war was like a breath of fresh air compared to this. 

Voldemort killed Little One, not the muggles. 

“With you gone,” Dumbledore continued. “The world will be free and Harry can finally return to his family. He will finally be at peace.” 

Voldemort frowned as he registered Dumbledore’s words. At peace? With his family? “What?” Voldemort asked, lifting his head. “What are you saying?”

“I think it’s time to finally put Harry to rest, don’t you?” Dumbledore asked. Realization broke through the agony that Voldemort was feeling. Dumbledore intends to kill Voldemort and then kill Little One. 

Dumbledore wanted to kill Little One. 

“Any last words, Tom?” Dumbledore asked, tilting his head as he looked down upon Voldemort’s balled up figure. 

“Yeah,” Voldemort snarled, the rage that he had been suppressing boiling up inside him. Voldemort may have killed Little One, but it was never intentional. Little One was his precious son and Dumbledore was a threat. “You never should have touched my son!” 

With a scream, all the rage and grief and pain that Voldemort felt exploded out of him in a wandless killing curse. The impact sent Dumbledore flying, a large explosion of dust flying up into the air when he hit the ground. 

It was silent for a moment as Voldemort forced himself to stand, the ache of his injuries becoming apparent. Death was at his side then, a proud glint in his eyes as he presented Voldemort with Dumbledore’s wand. “ **I knew you could do it**.” he whispered. Voldemort just hobbled over to where Dumbledore’s body lay. 

Dumbledore was dead. 

Voldemort slowly took the wand from Death, a powerful surge flowing through his body the moment his fingers closed around the wand. He held it up to the light and shook his head. “The Elder wand?”

“ **Of course** ,” Death said with a grin. “ **Congratulations, you have become it’s master**.” 

“Dumbledore is finally gone,” Voldemort said softly. “He can’t hurt my family anymore.” 

“ **There’s only one thing left to do**.” Death said with a smile. Voldemort’s face hardened into a determined glare. 

“Find our son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DING DONG THE BITCH IS DEAD HAHA!!! I hope you enjoyed this fight, I tried to write this as well as I could, but I've never been good at writing fight scenes. This book is coming to a close so thank you all for reading. Get ready for the angst train because how else am I supposed to end this book? hehe.... 
> 
> **FanFiction Rec:** Stolen Pencils, Tiny Footsteps written by MoonPaw17  
> This is a super cute Borrower AU for MHA where Deku is a borrower living in UA. I love this fic so much, you should totally check it out because this is honestly just adorable!!!! 
> 
> Also, for queer_comes_the_sun, please enjoy: You’re a parent, Severus written by acmparker, Teaghlach written by Godiva on Fanfiction.net and Namesake Necklace written by WiCeBa  
> \------------------------  
> Severus: *steps into the clearing*  
> Severus: What the fu....  
> Severus: *notices he's standing on something*  
> Severus: OMFG IS THAT FUCKING EAR?!?!


	50. 48: His Son Part I

_**-December 7, 1991-**_  
With Dumbledore’s slowly cooling corpse to the left of him, Voldemort stood in silence as he tried to figure out where the old coot had hidden his son. Death hovered over the ground next to him, his face drawn up and pensieve. Dumbledore, while completely off his rocker, had a lot of connections while he was still alive, which meant Little One could be anywhere. 

“Where would Dumbledore hide him?” he asked to himself, absently beginning to pace. “Perhaps the Order…? But, no, Severus said…” 

Voldemort frowned. According to Severus’ hasty response, Dumbledore had alienated the Order after he kidnapped Little One, which meant that the likelihood of the Order housing his son was slim to none. Voldemort growled with frustration, his hands coming up to anxiously tug his hair. 

There wasn’t much time left at all. The tether that Voldemort had grown used to was steadily growing weaker as more time passed, signaling Little One’s descent. Voldemort figured he had less than two days to find Little One and revitalize him with magic before it was too late. 

Despite the battle with Dumbledore being over, Voldemort was no closer to finding his son. And now the only person who knows where Little One is, is dead. Voldemort let out a growl of frustration and sent a hex at Dumbledore’s unmoving body out of spite. 

“We need to find Little One, and soon,” Voldemort said, turning to face his paramour. “Do you have any ideas where he might be?”

“ **With Dumbledore’s soul residing in my domain, I know everything** ,” he said, and Voldemort felt his face lift with joy. “ **However I am unable to directly tell you**.” 

“What? Why not?” Voldemort demanded, his fury leaking into his tone. “You know where Little One is!”

“ **My Sister’s plan is still in place** ,” Death lamented. “ **I cannot interfere**.” 

Voldemort let out a hoarse shout of frustration. “Damn Fate,” he cursed, running his hands through his hair as he struggled to maintain his composure. “Is there any way you can tell me _in_ directly?”

Death smirked. “ **Where is Severus and his lackeys? Weren’t they meant to report to you**?”

Voldemort’s eyes widened. “Indeed they were,” he said with a smirk. He focussed his magic on the Dark Mark and called Severus, Black and Lupin. He could feel their marks tugging in response to Voldemort’s summons, and Voldemort waited for a few seconds until they appeared in front of him. 

They looked awful. Their faces were haggard and dark from lack of sleep and stress, and Voldemort could tell they took his last warning to heart. They struggled into a deep bow, their faces displaying their true exhaustion. “My Lord,” they said. 

“What news have you for me?” Voldemort demanded, his eyes flashing with the frustration and rage he could feel boiling inside of him. 

“There is no sign of Little One, My Lord,” Severus said, cringing when Voldemort hissed. “We have been searching through the Headmaster’s office in search of records but have found nothing so far.” 

Damn Dumbledore. Even in death, he caused Voldemort problems. “Anything else to report, you useless excuses of Death Eaters?” Voldemort snarled. 

“The Order is very angry with him,” Black said, his voice tight with nervousness. “They all agreed to have nothing to do with Dumbledore when he returns. He’s officially lost any support he had.” 

“Interesting, but ultimately useless to me,” Voldemort said with a careless wave of his hand. “Seeing as Dumbledore will not be returning to them.” 

The trio in front of him sucked in a sharp breath, their eyes suddenly drawn to Dumbledore’s corpse beside him. Voldemort internally cackled at the sight of awed horror in their eyes. Severus stared at the body for a long time before he lifted his head slightly. “If I may, My Lord?” he asked. 

“You have something to say, Severus?” Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “Well, go on then. Share with the class.” 

“Have you considered bringing Dumbledore back and asking him where he hid Little One?” Severus asked. 

Voldemort frowned. In truth, he hadn’t considered bringing Dumbledore back. Not after all the trouble he went through trying to get rid of him. However, the thought of being in complete control of his archnemesis was too good a chance to pass up, especially if it would help him find his son. The only problem, however…. 

“The necessary ritual cannot be done for another month,” Voldemort said with a frown. “The moon is not in the right place for the ritual, nor is night time. I don’t have the time to wait another month to find Little One. There is less than two days left.” 

“ **I am unable to interfere with my Dear Sister’s plans** ,” Death said, causing Voldemort to turn and look at him. “ **But the Ritual of Inferi is in my realm. I have the power to grant you a boon**.” 

Voldemort grinned when he realized what Death was saying. “Well then,” he said, drawing the trio’s attention to him. “It looks like we can perform the ritual, after all.” The trio looked at him in confusion, and Voldemort knew it was because they couldn’t see Death. Voldemort only narrowed his eyes at them. “Return to the office and continue your search while I perform the ritual.” 

“Yes, My Lord,” Severus said, bowing his head one last time before he apparated away. Black and Lupin shared a confused look before they too, whispered their goodbyes and left. 

With the three of them gone, Voldemort was free to turn around and look at Death with a raised brow. “So how will this work? How do I complete the ritual when I am missing several key ingredients?”

“ **I said I would grant a boon** ,” Death said with a wink. “ **Far be it of me to suggest how you use it, but to summon the soul of a recently deceased and return him to his body for a short period of time is something I can do**.” 

Voldemort smirked. “Wonderful. Let’s do that.” 

Death grinned, and the look on his face was almost haunting. Death closed his eyes and when he opened them, his eyes were glowing a bright green. Voldemort stifled a gasp as shadows seemed to appear from nothing and wrap around Death like a cloak. The shadows completely covered Death from view, and when they finally receded, Death was gone. Or perhaps, not gone but he no longer had a physical form. 

Voldemort’s eyes strained as he struggled to see Death in the forms of writhing, dancing shadows. The only thing that Voldemort could make out were the two glowing orbs of green that Voldemort knew was Death’s eyes. 

“ **I grant thee, the Immortal Lord, favored by Fate, a boon** ,” Death said, his voice booming across the empty clearing. “ **State your boon**.” 

“I ask that you return Albus Dumbledore’s soul to his body for a brief time so that I might interrogate him on my son’s whereabouts.” Voldemort said in a strong voice. 

“ **I hear your boon and I grant it. So be it**.” Death said. 

There was a loud crack followed by a huge boom. Voldemort blinked as a bright light washed over the clearing. When the light faded, Voldemort was staring at Dumbledore’s corpse, now sitting up in an awkward position. Dumbledore blinked a few times, eyes wandering around with obvious confusion before they landed on Voldemort’s smirking face. 

“Oh… Tom… What have you done?” he said in a hoarse whisper. 

“Hello there, Dumbledore,” Voldemort said with a cruel grin. “So sorry to bring you back, truly I am. I did the world a favor, getting rid of you. But I’m afraid you have something of mine that I need back. Now. Tell me where my son is.”

“Harry Potter is not your son---”

“Oh, not this again,” Voldemort said with a huff. “Tell me where you hid him, and I’ll send you on your merry way to hell.” 

“I will not tell you where Harry Potter is,” Dumbledore said firmly. “He is finally safe from you.” 

“Safe from---Are you serious?” Voldemort barked out a laugh. “He really is mental. Why won’t he tell me where Little One is?”

Death’s shadows shook, almost as though death were shaking his head at him. “ **I brought him here, but I am unable to force him to speak.** ” he said sadly. 

Dumbledore let out a horrified gasp when his eyes landed on the mass of shadows. “How is this possible?!” he cried. “How can Death be here?”

“Oh, you can see him?” Voldemort asked with a tilt of his head. “How interesting. I suppose it makes sense since you’re dead.” 

“You made a deal with Death? I knew you were Dark but this…” Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes wide with horror, his face pale. 

“Oh no, I didn’t make a deal with him,” Voldemort said with a smirk. “I was granted a boon.” 

“A boon?!”

“Quite,” Voldemort drawled, leaning forward. “See, he was so put out that he couldn’t tell me where you’d hidden our son so he gave me your soul as an apology.” 

“My soul?!” Dumbledore cried. 

“That’s right,” Voldemort grinned. Beside him, Voldemort could hear Death chuckling. “I own you. I can decide what happens to you once I send you back. Tell me where my son is, and maybe I _won’t_ make sure you suffer for eternity.”

“I put him somewhere safe!” Dumbledore cried. “He’s with Gellert---”

“Gellert? Gellert Grindelwald?” Voldemort asked, his eyes widening as he risked a glance back at Death. “You’d take him from me but leave him with another Dark Lord? Your hypocrisy knows no bounds.” 

“I did it for the Greater Goods, Tom,” Dumbledore said with a sad shake of his head. “Everything I did.” 

“What do you mean? Everything?” Voldemort asked, narrowing his eyes. Why did he look so somber? Something wasn’t right here… “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry.” Dumbledore says with a sigh. “It was for the Greater Good.” 

Voldemort’s eyes widen as a punched out breath of air escapes him. “No…” he whispered, frantically searching for the tether that connects him to his son. It wasn’t there. Voldemort whirled around to face Death, seething. “TAKE ME TO GRINDELWALD! NOW!”

Death’s shadows wrapped around Voldemort, the freezing cold darkness embracing Voldemort tightly. Voldemort felt the brief sensation of being disoriented before he opened his eyes As the shadows receded he was greeted with the sight of the age-old prison Nurmengard on fire. 

“No!” Voldemort cried, lunging forward before Death had the chance to stop him. 

The heat of the flames burned him, but Voldemort didn’t even notice. Voldemort was focused on tracking his own magic signature that was ingrained in Little One, following it throughout the burning prison in search of his precious child. 

“No….” Voldemort whispered. The magical signature led to a prison cell at the top of a tower. The cell was obviously the starting point of the magical fire, and it took a few minutes for Voldemort’s magic to snuff the fire out, his hands trembling. 

The fire was magical, and Voldemort had seen _Fiendfyre_ enough times to recognize it. The fire had eaten everything in sight, tearing the old prison castle to nothing but dust and ash. With the animalistic fire finally put out, Voldemort was able to see the cell that had housed his son for the past few days. 

He could see with clear eyes how horribly _empty_ it was. 

“No, no, no, no please,” Voldemort whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke. The cell was empty save for ashes. The fire had consumed everything. “No.”

Voldemort searched inside himself, scouring for the tether that locked Little One to him. So long as Little One was connected to Voldemort’s magic, Voldemort should be able to feel him. The tether had become something of a comfort to him over the years of raising his son. He’d spent so long with it, and yet as Voldemort desperately called for it, he couldn’t find it. 

He couldn’t find the tether. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort sees something resting in the ashes. With a trembling hand, Voldemort leans down and lifts the brown satchel out of the dust. It was the side-bag that Voldemort had given Little One to carry his flowers. It was charmed impervious to anything, virtually indestructible. Despite the strength of the charms, Voldemort could see where the _fiendfyre_ had begun to eat away at it. The strap was snapped and charred from the fire, the buttons on the front melted to the leather. 

“No.” Voldemort said, his eyes hardening as he clutched the bag to his chest. “He’s not dead. He’s not.”

Voldemort hears the sound of shifting and turns to see Death standing there, a new human host. The body was male, dark black hair and eyes that stared at the pile of ashes by Voldemort’s feet with an absolutely _devastated_ expression. Death’s hand reached out towards him, his mouth opening and closing. 

“He’s not dead,” Voldemort repeats, shaking his head when Death looks at him with agonized eyes. “He’s not. He wouldn’t die from this. This is a trick.” 

Death steps forward, cringing when he steps over the pile of ashes and draws Voldemort into his arms. “ **You** \---”

“Why are you hugging me?” Voldemort demands, smacking the hands that had wrapped around his waist. “Stop that! We need to go find him.” 

It was true. Voldemort needed to go out and find Little One, as this was just a waste of time. He should’ve known better than to trust Dumbledore for his words. Obviously, this was a trick to knock Voldemort off his feet. Voldemort was ashamed to admit it worked for a moment, but Voldemort knew that Little One was alive. 

Little One was perfectly fine, he was just missing. He was probably terrified and needed his Papa to come find him and hug him. That was what Little One needed. He wasn’t dead because who could hurt his precious child? No one could do such a thing. He knew Little One was alive, so why was Death staring at him like that? Didn’t he realize that Little One was still out there, alone and afraid?

At some point, Voldemort wasn’t sure when, Death had taken him from the prison. In a blink of an eye, Voldemort had gone from staring at the charred remains of a cold cell to staring at the gardens behind Voldemort’s castle. The fire that Dumbledore had set had ruined them. 

Voldemort frowned at the sight of the burned up flowers and trees. Little One would be absolutely devastated when he saw what happened to his gardens. Voldemort would have to fix them before he came back. Maybe add a pond or something for that infernal beast of his. Voldemort would make sure that the gardens were returned to their full glory so that Little One would smile the way he loved. 

He loves the way Little One smiles. His son was so bright and happy, brighter than the morning sun. So beautiful. The gardens paled in comparison. When was the last time Voldemort saw his child smile? It’s been too long. That would all be fixed, though, when Voldemort found him and brought him home. 

There would definitely be a conversation about leaving his things lying around, though. Voldemort didn’t want Little One to lose his bag again. Voldemort’s fingers clenched around the bag in question. Voldemort would have to mend the bag as well for Little One. Little One loved the bag. When Voldemort had first presented him with it and showed how the flowers could magically appear from it, Little One had given him one of the brightest smiles Voldemort had ever seen. 

Voldemort frowned when he looked at the bag in his hand only to see that his vision was blurred. Why couldn’t he see? Did he get injured during his fight with Dumbledore? Perhaps a head injury? It would explain why his vision was blurred. 

Voldemort blinked and his vision returned to normal only for a strange wetness to run down his face. Voldemort frowned and lightly touched his cheek. Was he… Was he _crying_? Why would he do that? 

Beside him, Voldemort could see Death’s mouth moving, but Voldemort couldn’t hear anything the entity was saying. Voldemort looked at him, and for the first time, Voldemort noticed how sharp the being’s cheekbones were. It was a strange common trait that Voldemort noticed on all of Death’s bodies. However, in this moment, the sun filtered down on him at just the right angle and it made him look… 

“Beautiful.” 

Death frowned. “ **Talk to me** ,” he begged, leaning forward to swipe his thumb under Voldemort’s eyes. He must have been crying still. Odd. “ **Please, don’t shut me out.** ” 

“We have to go find him,” Voldemort said. “He’s still out there. We need to talk to Dumbledore again. Is he still here?” 

Death frowned. “ **Find him**?” 

“Yes, we have to go find Little One,” Voldemort repeated, shaking his head at Death’s confusion. “Obviously Dumbledore lied. We just need to get him to tell the truth so we can find him.” 

“ **My Dear…** ” 

“We’ll have to fix the gardens, too. Oh! I almost forgot that Dumbledore ruined Little One’s room,” Voldemort scowled. “He’ll have to sleep with us for a little while. But we can worry about that later. Right now we need to go find him.” 

“ **He’s gone, Voldemort**.” Death said, his voice grim and somber. 

Voldemort froze, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. That was the first time Death had used his name in such a way. He stared at Death for a long moment before he shook his head. “No he’s not…” he said firmly. “He’s not… he’s fine… He’s not…” 

“ **He’s gone**.” Death repeated, a single tear trailing down his face. “ **He’s gone**.” 

“No…” Voldemort’s protests were cut off by a soft smack against his ankle. Voldemort looked down to see Larry leaning against his foot, an expectant gleam in his eyes. He let out a soft quack, his eyes darting around as he looked for Little One. 

Voldemort could see the silent question in the duckling’s eyes. 

_‘Where is Little One?’_

The force of the sob that escaped Voldemort’s mouth surprised him. His eyes widened with surprise at the cry that left him, his hand coming up to cover his mouth for a moment before the next sob left him. Voldemort doubled over from the force of it, his entire body shaking as he cried. 

“No, no, no, no,” he pleaded over and over again, his breath coming out in choked, panicked, cries. “No, no, no, no!” 

Larry let out another soft quack and Voldemort screamed. 

He whirled around and slammed his hands into Death’s chest, pushing him down. “BRING HIM BACK!” Voldemort screamed, his voice breaking under the strain of his sobs. “BRING HIM BACK!” 

“ **I** \---”

Voldemort let out another hoarse cry and he began to punch Death’s chest over and over again, screaming with wordless rage and grief until his voice broke. “Bring him back!” Voldemort wept, his fists digging into Death’s chest. “Bring him back! That’s my baby! Bring him back! You can’t… You _can’t_ take him! You can’t take my baby! BRING HIM BACK! THAT’S MY BABY BRING HIM BACK!” 

Death stood there taking the abuse with nothing but a pained expression. “ **You can’t bring back a dead Inferius**.” he whispered, and Voldemort let out another wordless screech. “ **It’s too late**.” 

“BRING HIM BACK!” Voldemort demanded, his anger overtaking his senses. “YOU BRING HIM BACK RIGHT NOW! DO IT! THAT’S MY BABY!” 

“ **I’m so sorry**.” Death cried, another tear rolling down his face. 

“DON’T CRY! BRING HIM BACK!” Voldemort screamed. 

“ **You know I can’t** ,” Death said softly. “ **It’s impossible to bring an Inferius back for a second time**.” 

Voldemort screeched, his wordless cry of rage and anguish echoing over the destroyed garden that was once a symbol of peace to his dear son. His magic festered and bubbled over, exploding out of him as he fell to the ground. 

“Bring him back,” he wept. “Please, I’ll do anything. Bring him back. That’s my _baby_. You can’t have my baby! Bring him back!” 

Death sunk to the ground, his arms wrapping around Voldemort, pulling him into an embrace. “ **I’m so sorry** ,” he repeated. “ **There’s nothing I can do. You can’t bring an Inferius back**.” 

Voldemort blinked the blurriness from his eyes, his gaze traveling over his destroyed home. He could see the burned garden, the ruined echo of happier days. He could see the tree where he had read a book to Little One. He could see the flower beds where Little One would create crowns for him. He could see the pond where Little One would play. The pond where he found Larry. 

He could see Larry sitting on the burned grass, his yellow deaths dark with soot and ash. He was resting on a Spider Lily, Voldemort’s signature flower. Next to the Lily was a single dandelion that had survived the wreckage. Larry’s eyes met Voldemort’s and a soft breeze flew through the garden, making the Lily and Dandelion dance together. 

Voldemort stiffened and pulled away from Death’s embrace, his crimson eyes hardening with determination. 

“Watch me.” he snarled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. Little One... my poor baby... 
> 
> **FanFic Rec:** Benefits of Old Laws written by ulktane  
> This is a really interesting and super good book where Voldemort adopts Harry Potter. Honestly, much love. Go check it out!!!  
> \----------------  
>  _The Spider Lily and the Dandelion dance in the wind. Together, they are whole, separate they will always miss each other, longing for their better half to return._
> 
> _~~alone the Spider Lily wilts without the innocent Dandelion to dance with him~~ _


	51. 49: His Son Part II

_**-December 8, 1991-**_  
Once, only a few months after Voldemort had brought his son home, Little One had fallen from the oak tree in his bedroom. He had been working on some paperwork when he heard a startled scream and loud thump. He recalled the way his heart had dropped to his stomach and the way he raced into the room, his eyes wide with terror. The noise was the first sound Little One had made since Voldemort brought him home. 

Voldemort could remember the way his palms had sweat as he burst into Little One’s bedroom, his eyes darting around expecting some enemy trying to kill his precious child, only to fall on Little One’s crying figure under the large oak tree. With no sign of imminent danger, Voldemort had carefully walked up to his crying toddler and scooped him up in his arms, and pressed kisses to his face until he stopped crying. 

He could remember with perfect clarity, the way Little One had whined and buried his face in Voldemort’s shoulder, and softly spoke to him for the first time since he became an inferius. 

“ _Fell Papa_ ,” he had whispered into his robes. “ _Pretty lights_.” 

Little One, ever the curious child, had climbed up the giant oak tree to look at the floating lights Voldemort had spelled on to it. He must have lost his grip or something because he fell through the branches and landed hard on his arm. The bone had snapped, but Little One wasn't crying from the pain---his pain receptors didn’t work the same way they did when he was alive. He still felt things, obviously, but the pain of breaking his arm would have felt like getting a scrape on the knee to him---he was crying from the shock of falling. 

Voldemort, on the other hand, felt the adrenaline crashing in his body when he realized that his son was in no real danger. He could recall the way his hands had trembled slightly as he healed Little One’s bones. 

That was the second time Voldemort had failed to protect his precious treasure. The first being the incident in which the muggle killed his son, the second being a wake-up call. Voldemort could remember the way he had cradled Little One’s body in his arms for the rest of the day, paying no mind to the way his arms ached after a few hours. 

Voldemort vowed that day, holding his child tight in his arms, that he would always protect Little One from the dangers that awaited him, even if those dangers were from Little One himself. 

Voldemort could remember the way he felt that day in perfect clarity because that’s exactly how he feels right now. 

Voldemort couldn’t breathe as he stared at Larry the duck. The duckling was sitting on the desk in front of him, his disfigured beak opening and closing with loud quacks as he undoubtedly called for Little One. 

Voldemort couldn’t breathe right, and he sucked in more and more air, and though he could feel the air filling his lungs, he felt like he was drowning. 

What was this feeling? What was it? Voldemort clawed at the desk as he struggled to pull in more air. Why wasn’t he breathing? 

“ **You are breathing, My Dear** ,” came a soft, agonized whisper. Voldemort grit his teeth, refusing to look at the being who was sitting by the fireplace. Voldemort had lit it when he stormed into his office, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. Despite the roaring flame, though, Voldemort just couldn’t seem to get warm. “ **You are breathing, you’re just in shock**.” 

“I am _not_ in shock,” Voldemort snarled, slamming his fists onto the desk and startling the duckling. Voldemort let out a sharp breath of air and dragged his fingers through his hair before he tenderly scooped the duckling---his _son’s_ little duckling---into his hands. “I am not in shock,” he repeated softly. “I am focusing. I need to bring him back quickly.” 

“ **My Dear** \---”

“If you aren’t going to help me then please, feel free to leave,” Voldemort snapped, finally turning to face Death, only for a soft gasp to escape him. 

Death’s host looked like… well, death. He had deep black, purple bruises under his eyes as he stared at Voldemort with an agonized, empty expression. He looked utterly defeated as he leaned against the brick of the fireplace, curled up on the floor with his knees hugged to his chest. “ **I am not going to leave you alone** ,” he said softly, but determined. 

Voldemort composed himself. “I am not alone,” he said pointedly. “In a few hours, once I figure out the right ritual, I will have my son with me.” 

Voldemort couldn’t stand to see the look on Death’s face when he said this, so he quickly turned his gaze to the duckling in his hands. Larry was curled up in the center of his palm, his face poking out and looking at Voldemort with hopeful eyes. “Larry is getting impatient,” Voldemort said with no bite. “If I don’t bring Little One home soon, I fear for my rugs. The last thing I need is his mangy flea-bag ruining my furniture.” 

Despite his words, Voldemort made no move to put Larry down. It was strange. Ever since Little One found the malformed duckling and adopted him, Voldemort felt nothing but disdain for the thing. Larry took up a lot of the attention that Little One once reserved for him, and he had plotted countless ways to get rid of the thing without upsetting him. 

It was the perfect time to get rid of the beast, once and for all. All he had to do was tell Little One that the duckling perished in the fire that Dumbledore had set on his room. Little One would be distraught for a little while, of course, but Voldemort would comfort his child and win even more affection from his precious toddler in the process. It was a foolproof plan. 

So, why then, did Voldemort hesitate? 

Why was he clutching at the duckling he once despised, the duckling that his son adored, so tightly? Why was he clinging to the duckling, terrified to set it down, afraid that something would happen to it before Little One came home?

Voldemort hadn’t even realized he was staring at Larry for a long time until Death spoke, “ **Darling? Are you alright? Is something wrong with the duck**?”

Voldemort snapped his head up to meet Death’s grieving eyes. “No,” he said suddenly, forcing himself with great reluctance, to set Larry back on the desk. “It’s just… well, Little One will be happy to see Larry in perfect health when he returns.” 

Death heaved out a sigh and stood, slowly walking over to Voldemort. “W-What are you doing?” Voldemort asked, taking a step back when Death’s hand reached out to cup his cheek. “We don’t have time for this, right now! We need to research a ritual to bring Little One back---” 

“ **Stop this**.” Death ordered, bracing Voldemort’s face so that he could stare into Voldemort’s eyes. “ **You need to stop this. He’s gone** \---”

“No, he’s not!” Voldemort snapped, slipping out of Death’s hands. “He’s not. He’s not, okay! You’re giving up! I refuse to!”

“ **Dear, he’s not coming back** ,” Death said softly, leaning against the wall as he watched Voldemort rush about, searching through different books for answers. “ **You must know that. He’s gone**.” 

“He’s not!” Voldemort snarled, slamming a book shut. “Stop this! Why are you saying that?! Don’t you want him to come back?!”

“ **Of course I do**!” Death cried. “ **But it doesn’t work like that! You _know_** \---”

“No, I _don’t_ know!” Voldemort exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. “I don’t know for sure! That’s why I have to do this! I love him and I’m not just going to accept what you say just because you said it!”

“ **Please, listen to me** ,” Death said softly, stepping towards him. “ **Little One is gone, now. You need to stop this and just grieve**.” 

“Do what you want,” Voldemort scoffed, crossing the room to pick up Larry and a few books. “While you sit here doing nothing, I’m going to go bring our son back.”

Voldemort marched out of his office seething, his footsteps echoing across the harsh black bricks of his castle. Larry quietly chirped in his hand, and Voldemort paid him no mind. If Death refused to help, then fine, Voldemort didn’t need him anyway. 

Voldemort ended up in his ritual room, a room that he has used only once since he moved into the castle. It was behind his meeting hall, a circular room with a slightly smaller circular platform sunken into the floor, five steps leading from the raised circle to the small circle.

This was where rituals would be performed, and an open hole in the ceiling allowed natural light to flow in. The hole was often used in rituals that required the night sky, moon, sun, or specific precipitation. 

Voldemort gently placed Larry on the ground, far away enough from the ritual circle, and stepped into the platform. He sat in the center of the circle and pulled out the ritual book he used to bring Little One back the first time. 

He had all the necessary ingredients to perform the ritual again, save for the light of the full moon. Voldemort blew out a harsh breath of air through his grit teeth and threw the book to the ground in a fit of rage. 

“Damn it all,” Voldemort cursed, burying his face in his hands. “Damn it all.” 

A slight scuffle made Voldemort raise his head. He was surprised to see Death standing at the threshold, a grim look on his face. “What are you doing here?” Voldemort snapped, stretching out to reach the book. “Come to mock me again?”

“ **I’m here to help** ,” Death said softly, causing Voldemort to look at him with suspicion. 

“Why?”

“ **Because it’s what you need** ,” was Death’s response. “ **I don’t believe it will work but… But I am willing to help you if it means you can grieve**.” 

“Well it doesn’t matter anyway,” Voldemort said, choosing to ignore Death’s skepticism. “The moon---” 

“ **I will alter the path of the moon for a short while** ,” Death said, making Voldemort snap his head up in shock. 

“You can do that?!”

“ **Not permanently, and not in the entire sky** ,” Death said. “ **To alter it in such a way would border dangerously into Time’s and my Dear Sister’s territory. I can, however, alter the night sky in an isolated area for a few hours. I can ensure that the full moon’s light shines down upon you long enough to perform the ritual**.” 

“Why didn’t you do that earlier?” Voldemort asked, crossing his arms defensibly over his chest. 

“ **It is a tiring affair** ,” Death said, moving closer into the circle. “ **It would have taken too much time**.” 

“Fine,” Voldemort relented, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s one other problem. I don’t have his---” Voldemort choked. “---his body.” 

“ **You have his bag** ,” Death said, procuring the side satchel that Voldemort created for Little One. “ **His soul would have latched onto the bag after being in contact with it for so long. It should have enough of his signature to perform the ritual on it**.” 

“That’s… I don’t think it works like that,” Voldemort said, shaking his head. Nevertheless, Voldemort reached out to take the bag. 

“ **It will** ,” Death promised. “ **The ritual will work, but if he’s truly gone as I’ve said** \---”

“He’s not.” Voldemort said firmly. 

“ **But if he is** ,” Death repeated, his gaze boring into Voldemort’s. “ **The ritual will not bring him back**.” 

Voldemort ignored him and cradled his son’s bag to his chest carefully. Using pure intention, Voldemort’s magic drew the runes needed for the ritual into the floor. Voldemort tenderly placed Little One’s bag into the center of the runes and looked at Death, silently telling him to change the sky.

Just as they did once before, shadows sprung up from the ground and converged over Death’s body. For a moment, the shadows covered everything in pitch black, before a white light shined down overhead. Voldemort looked up to see a sky full of stars, the full moon directly over the runes.

Voldemort didn’t waste any time, quickly firing off the chanting and poured his magic into the ritual, begging it to work. 

_Please_ , he whispered in his head as his mouth fired off chants. _Please bring him back. Please._

Voldemort felt a large burst of magic escape him as the chanting faded to a close. There was a bright light, bright enough that Voldemort was forced to close his eyes. When he opened them again there was nothing but silence. 

His eyes fell to the center of the circle where Little One should be standing. 

He was met with heart-breaking emptiness. 

“No,” Voldemort whispered, his crimson eyes watering as he stared at the empty stone. “No… I… Something must have gone wrong…” 

“ **Darling…** ” 

“No!” Voldemort cried. “No! It was the bag! It messed up the ritual somehow! I told you it wouldn’t work! I told you… I told…” 

Death’s shadows faded as he walked towards Voldemort’s trembling figure. A harsh gasp tore its way out of Voldemort’s throat when Death embraced him. Death tugged Voldemort into his arms, slowly sinking to the floor. “ **He’s gone**.” Death whispered. 

The tears fell from Voldemort’s eyes, pooling at the ground. “No,” Voldemort whispered, shaking his head. “No, please. No, he’s not. Not him.” 

“ **Little One’s soul is gone** ,” Death said gently. “ **There is nothing to call back**.” 

“Go to Purgatory!” Voldemort demanded. “You told me that Inferi’s souls go to Purgatory! Go back there and find him!” 

“ **It doesn’t work like that** ,” Death said mournfully. “ **Those souls only enter limbo because the magical barrier has disintegrated. Little One’s barrier was still intact when he** \---”

“You’re telling me that… That Little One’s soul was… burned up---” Voldemort choked, fresh tears sliding down his face. “---it burned up with the _Fiendfyre_?”

“ **His soul was still locked inside his body** ,” Death said. “ **In destroying his body, his soul was destroyed as well. There is no way to bring him back because there is nothing left to return**.” 

Voldemort gagged, the image of his child burning up in the fire, crying for his Papa made Voldemort’s stomach churn. He sank to the floor and doubled over, pulling out of Death’s embrace. “No, no, no,” he repeated over and over again, his face slick with tears. “No, please no.”

“ **I’m so sorry** ,” Death’s voice cracks. “ **This was never supposed to happen. My Sister swore that my Master was safe. She swore** \---”

Voldemort didn’t want to hear anymore. The pain was pulling him under. Voldemort had never felt anything like this. It felt like the world was ending, like his body was breaking. His body trembled as emotions washed over him. 

“My _baby_ ,” he wept, slamming his fists into the ground. He didn’t care that the hard stone was damaging his fists. The pain was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. “That was _my baby! He was just a sweet, little baby!_ How could… How could anyone hurt him?! How…” 

Voldemort sobbed into the ground, screaming at the universe for being so cruel. Was this karma? Was this punishment for everything he did? Was this what all those parents felt when he murdered their child in his war? No wonder they fought so hard to end him. This pain… it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. 

He felt something soft bump against his fist, and he slowly raised his head to see Larry nudging him with his head. He let out a soft, inquisitive quack when Voldemort looked at him. 

The grief washed through him all over again at the sight. “ _I’m so sorry, beast_ ,” Voldemort wept. “Little One’s gone now. He… He can’t watch over you anymore…” Larry only tilted his head. Voldemort was struck by the familiarity of the motion. Larry was tilting his head in the exact same way Little One would whenever he was confused. Voldemort sobbed and gently tugged Larry into his chest, cradling the duckling like he was Voldemort’s most precious treasure. And he was. Larry was all Voldemort had left of his most precious treasure, and that meant Voldemort would protect him. “Little One isn’t here anymore,” Voldemort whispered, his voice breaking. “But I’ll watch over you now. Won’t that be nice? We can put the past behind us and… and…” 

Voldemort began to weep once more, the force of it causing Voldemort to lurch forward. The pain was debilitating. Even the pain of Horcruxes felt like nothing compared to this. This was death, Voldemort was sure of it. Voldemort was dying now. 

Behind him, Death sobbed into his hands. Voldemort slowly turned around, only managing to muster up enough strength to collapse into his lap when the next round of sobs overtook him. Death bent over and buried his face in Voldemort’s hair. Voldemort could feel Death’s tears hit the back of his neck, but he didn’t mind, just as he hoped Death didn’t mind the way he was ruining his robes. 

“W-What do I do now?” Voldemort asked. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

Death didn’t have an answer, which was good because Voldemort wasn’t looking for one. There was truly no way of going on after this. How was Voldemort supposed to carry on living when his only child, the most precious treasure, the light of his life, was dead? 

Where was the justice in that? 

“ **I’m so sorry** ,” Death kept repeating. “ **So sorry**.” 

Voldemort didn’t want his apologies, though. All he wanted was his son back. 

But he couldn’t have that, so instead, Voldemort laid there on the hard, stone ground, one hand carrying Larry, and the other gripping at Death’s robes with an iron grip, and wept. He stayed there for a very long time, Voldemort assumed. Long enough for his limbs to go numb, and a headache to form behind his eyes. 

Long enough for a House Elf to pop in. With the familiar crack, Voldemort raised his head, dizzy from dehydration. The tears had stopped a short time ago, but Voldemort knew his eyes would not be dry for long. “I’m not hungry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want any food. Leave me be.” 

The House Elf let out an anxious squeak. “Mipsy be coming to inform Masters of a guest,” she said, wringing her hands together. “Mipsy be coming to say a Master Grindelwald is outside. He be looking for Master.” 

Voldemort froze, his eyes wide. Beside him, Death let out a punched gasp. “W-What?” Voldemort asked, pushing himself off the ground. “What did you just say?” 

“Master Grindelwald be looking for Master---” the House Elf repeated, but squeaked as Voldemort ran past her. 

It wasn’t possible! Grindelwald should be dead, his ashes smoldering in the wreckage of the prison that had housed him and Little One. He could only faintly hear Death following behind him, but Voldemort didn’t look back. 

If Grindelwald was here… 

He skidded to a stop in front of the entrance hall, paying no mind to his disheveled, grief-stricken state, in favor of staring with disbelief at the man in front of him. 

Standing in the open front door was none other than Grindelwald, covering in ash and soot. In his arms was an unconscious Draco Malfoy, equally as dirty. In his other arm was a blanket bundled. Voldemort’s mouth opened to say something, but before he got the chance, the blanket moved and a dirty head popped out. 

“Papa!” Little One cried, his arms reaching out of the blanket to reach out towards Voldemort. His face dirty, covered in soot and black smudges. His shirt was gone, which was why he was covered in the blanket, and small stripes of clean skin lined his face, showing where the tears had cleaned through the grime. 

Voldemort didn’t care about the grime or dirt as he ran towards him, tears falling from his eyes. He tore Little One out of Grindelwald’s hold, showing that Little One’s body was just as dirty as his face, and he was wearing nothing except his ruined pants. Voldemort pressed Little One into his body tightly as he fell to his knees and wept. 

Voldemort breathed in his scent, noting that the smell of ash and fire was all over him, and pressed kisses all over his face when he could bear to remove it from his chest. 

“Little One!” he sobbed. “My baby! My precious baby! You’re alive! My sweet son, oh thank Merlin! You’re alive! You’re _alive_!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't really think I'd kill off Little One, did you? 
> 
> **FanFiction Rec:** That Silver Haired Daddy of Mine written by ElliahRose (aka ME)  
> Please go read my newest book! This is a Dad For One fic where Inko and Yagi get married. Yagi loves his wife and he loves his stepson Izuku, and everything is perfect until his wife's ex-husband comes back claiming he wants to be a part of Izuku's life. Inko's ex-husband who just happens to be Yagi's arch-nemesis. This is Part One of a series that will carry through canon, featuring lots of Dad For One, Dad Might and Dadzawa. All the dads for Deku. Please check it out!  
> \--------------------  
> Larry: *Perfectly content because Little One is there and Voldemort loves him now*


	52. 50: Fate's Chosen

_**-December 8, 1991-**_  
Voldemort couldn’t let Little One go, would _never_ let his son go again if he had anything to say about it. He held Little One in a suffocating hold, the heavy weight in his arms reminding Voldemort that his baby was, in fact, _alive_. His fingers trembled as they carded through Little One’s filthy hair, and every few seconds, Voldemort would press kisses to his face, his head, his arms, anywhere he could, constantly reassuring himself of Little One’s safety. 

“How is this possible?” he found himself asking, his magic instinctively searching for the tether that locked Little One and himself together. “I can’t feel him…” 

He looked up to see Grindelwald still standing in the entrance hall, a peculiar expression on his face. “You really care about him, don’t you?” he asked, almost in awe. 

Voldemort scowled. “He’s my son,” he said coldly, regaining his composure. He slowly stood, his arms still wrapped around Little One in a death-like grip. Little One nuzzled into the divot of Voldemort’s collar, and the gesture filled him with warmth. It was a familiar feeling, something that Little One did whenever he was feeling stressed out or tired. It was something Voldemort never thought he’d feel again. “He’s my son,” he repeated. “Of course I care about him. I love him.” 

Grindelwald nodded curtly. “‘M sorry about what he did.” 

Voldemort’s lips pursed. “Doesn’t matter,” he replied coolly. “He’s dead now.” 

If Grindelwald was surprised, he didn’t show it. Voldemort had heard the rumors in his youth about the failed Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. There was no weight to the rumors, and nothing had ever been proven, so Voldemort had always dismissed them as nothing more than senseless gossip. However, looking at the small glint of grief in Grindelwald’s eyes, Voldemort wondered if the rumors were true, and Dumbledore and Grindelwald really _had_ been involved.

Grindelwald shuddered. “Why’s it so cold here?” 

“ **That would be me** ,” Death said, still staring at Voldemort and Little One in awe. Though Grindelwald couldn’t see or hear Death, he shivered anyway. “ **How can this be?** ” he whispered, slowly stepping towards them. “ **He… he was gone… I couldn’t find his presence anywhere**.” 

“I can’t feel the tether,” Voldemort said, addressing both men. “I thought he… I thought the fire…” 

“You were the one who made him, right?” Grindelwald asked. Voldemort nodded silently. “He’s really well-made. You are quite powerful, I suppose that’s expected, though, being the great Lord Voldemort.” 

Voldemort bristled at the tone. “Explain what you’re doing with my son and Draco Malfoy,” he demanded. “Now.” 

Grindelwald glanced down at the unconscious boy. “Oh, is that who this is?” he asked. “I was wondering about that.” 

“Tell me what happened,” Voldemort said tersely. “They need to go to the hospital wing. You have until we reach there to explain everything.” 

“Very well,” Grindelwald said with a sigh. “Albus brought Harry to my prison cell four days ago. He was raving, he was, talking about defeating you and returning peace. Harry was devolving quickly, though. I tried to help him but I had magic-canceling cuffs on---”

“His name is Little One,” Voldemort snapped. “Do call him that.” 

“Little One, then,” Grindelwald said, his face scrunching up with distaste. “When was he supposed to be revitalized?”

“I try to perform the ritual on the Solstice each year,” Voldemort said. “The stress and prolonged absence from my magical signature triggered his devolution.”

“I figured as much,” Grindelwald conceded. “He was almost gone. I gave it another day before he was feral.” Voldemort’s grip on his son tightened, his chest clenching at the thought. “Albus said he was going to fight you, said he needed someone to watch us while he did it.” 

“Watch you?” Voldemort asked, whipping around to look at him. “Who?”

“Dunno her name,” Grindelwald shrugged. “Psycho bitch, though.” Voldemort frowned at the crass language. “She showed up in the morning…”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_**-12 hours earlier-**_  
Gellert stared at the Inferius in the corner with sad eyes. Harry was pawing at the stitches on his neck anxiously, soft growls escaping his lips every now and then before he would shiver and fall silent, only for the cycle to repeat moments later. The child was practically gone now. It was heartbreaking, and Gellert once again found himself cursing Albus’ name. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” Gellert soothed, wishing that the cuffs would break so that he could help the child. Despite his reputation, Gellert always had a soft spot for kids. He always wanted a family of his own, and he had considered Creedence his son before everything got all messed up and twisted. “Everything will be fine.” 

It wouldn’t, but Gellert wasn’t going to tell him that. 

Gellert’s comforting words were interrupted, however, by the sound of heels clicking against the stone. He frowned, eyes glancing back towards the cell door. He waited a few more seconds before a woman came into view. She was wearing a hideously pink dress, her hat and shoes both color coordinated. She smiled at them, but the smile was so fake and condescending, Gellert instantly felt like punching her. 

“Hem, hem,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. “I see you are the prisoners I’m watching.” 

“Albus send you?” Gellert asked, taking in her plump form and strange resemblance to a toad. 

“Of course,” she said, her voice high and full of self-importance. “Dumbledore realized that I am an incredibly powerful woman, capable of working her way to the top.” 

“Uh-huh,” Gellert deadpanned. 

“As soon as the Dark Lord is defeated, I shall become the new Minister,” she continued, either not noticing Gellert’s sarcasm, or not caring enough to comment. “With me in charge, England will grow incredibly powerful. I will get rid of the disgusting half-breeds and mudbloods, and once England is clean, we can begin cleansing the rest of the world!” 

Gellert stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge how serious she was. When he saw no change in her expression, he forced himself not to let out a sigh. She really was nuts, wasn’t she? 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gellert could see Harry rock faster. He frowned, quickly glancing at the Inferius trying to self-soothe, and longed to comfort him. When he looked back at the lady, her eyes were narrowed dangerously on Harry. 

“What’s the matter with him?” she demanded in a snippy voice. 

“He’s not supposed to be here,” Gellert tried. “You need to let him go.” 

“I’ll do no such thing!” she cried, sticking her nose up. “He’s here for a reason, I’m sure, and you can’t trick me!”

Gellert bit back a growl. “He’s just a kid,” he tried again. “I’m the one you’re supposed to be guarding!”

“Dumbledore said---”

“Albus did it to trick you, not me!” Gellert said, fighting back a victorious smirk when she paused. 

“Trick me?”

“Yes! It’s, ah, it’s to see if you’re a good fit for the Minister position,” Gellert said, leaning forward. “A good Minister needs to be powerful, but also kind. Children are the future, and all that.” 

She paused, her hideous face crinkling as she considered Gellert’s words. “The future, you say?” she asked. Gellert nodded, glancing back at Harry once more. By now, Harry’s mad rocking had stopped, which Gellert considered a win, even if he continued to pick at his stitches. “Hmm… A tricky test. I would never have thought of it.” 

“Yes, Albus is tricky like that,” Gellert agreed.

“Very well,” she nodded, reaching into her dress pocket to pull out a ring of keys. “I will complete the test and prove to him that I truly am the perfect option.”

“Wonderful,” Gellert said, a terribly fake smile on his face. 

Gellert watched with hopeful eyes as the crazy woman unlocked the cell door and stepped towards Harry’s huddled figure. She approached him, a sickening grin on her face, one that was obviously meant to be comforting, but it came off as patronizing. “Come along, dear,” she cooed. Gellert fought back the urge to vomit. “Let’s get you home, hmm?”

Just as she leaned down to unlock the cuffs, Gellert realized his mistake. Despite his well-made appearance, Harry was still an Inferius, one steadily devolving to it’s feral state. Being approached by a stranger was a threat, especially to him. Gellert realized this a second too late, as Harry tensed for a brief second, before lunging for an attack. 

“Gah!” the woman cried, flinching back. “Monster!” she screeched. “Filth! Disgusting half-breed!”

“He was just frightened---” 

She whirled around to face Gellert, a furious expression on her face. “You!” she cried. “You tried to trick me! How dare you! You’ll pay for that!” 

“It was an accident,” Gellert said placatingly. “He was just scared.”

“It’s a monster!” she snarled. “It’s unnatural! It needs to _burn_!”

Gellert froze. “Wait, you’re wrong! This was all a misunderstanding---”

“I’m going to change, these clothes are too pretty to be ruined by your ashes,” she snapped. “When I get back, the two of you will burn for daring to exist!”

With that, the woman spun on her heel and marched out of the cell, and in her anger, she merely slammed the door shut, forgetting to lock it. Gellert stared at the Inferius hopelessly. He knew there was no way to get out of the cuffs, but Harry wasn’t locked down by anything. 

“Harry!” Gellert cried. Harry flinched but didn’t look at him. “Harry! Harry listen to me, you need to run now!” 

Harry just growled, and Gellert’s heart dropped to his feet. That woman had clearly sped up the process, as he was now minutes away from becoming feral. Gellert wrenched his arm, attempting to break out of the chains holding him, but to no avail. 

A loud pop startled Gellert, though, just as he was about to give up hope. 

“---lady! I thought you were bringing me to Little One!” 

A young boy with platinum blonde hair and Hogwarts robes stood in the center of the cell. He paused, his eyes widening as he took in his surroundings. His eyes narrowed on Gellert for a moment before he heard Harry’s shuffling behind him. He spun around and let out a cry. 

“Little One!” he yelled, running forward. 

“Stop!” Gellert cried just in time to stop the boy from touching him. “He’s devolving. It’s not safe to be around him right now!”

“Wait? Like, he needs magic now?” he asked. “We have to get him back to the Dark Lord!”

“There’s no time! He’s minutes away!” Gellert exclaimed. “Not to mention, a psycho who’ll be here any minute to burn us! Quick, boy, get these damn cuffs off me!”

He hesitated for a moment, but his desire to save the Inferius won out in the end. He rushed over, tugging on the manacles encircling his wrists for a moment before he pulled out his wand. “ _Alohamora_.” he said. Gellert raised an eyebrow at the First-Year spell, but to his surprise, it actually worked. 

To feel his magic rushing through his veins again after countless years in the magic-canceling cuffs was nothing short of euphoric. Gellert let out a pleased sigh, noting with displeasure that his magic levels were still remarkably low from all the years of blockage. 

“Can you help him?” the boy pleaded. 

Gellert frowned, trying to summon up enough magic to revitalize the Inferius in front of him. “I… I don’t have enough---”

“Then what use are you?!” the boy exploded. “Get us out of here! We need to help him!”

“There’s no time!” Gellert snapped. “We need to leave, but if we go near him, he might snap!”

“Then tell me what to do!” he replied. “I can perform the ritual!”

“Don’t be stupid, boy! That’ll kill you!” Gellert scoffed. 

“I can do it!” the boy replied. “I can! Just tell me what to do!”

“Oh, what the hell, we’re going to die anyway,” Gellert muttered to himself before he addressed the boy. “Let your magic reach out to him. Do you feel him?” when the boy nodded, Gellert continued. “Alright, force yourself to make contact. Forge a link with him. Do you feel it?”

“I feel it!” he cried. 

“Good. There’s a tether now, do you understand?” Geller asked, and he nodded once more. “Pour you magic through the tether. Think about how much you want him to have the magic.”

“It’s working!” the boy cried, a relieved smile breaking across his face. “I can feel it! He’s getting better!”

“Careful, boy!” Gellert snapped when he saw the boy begin to sway. “If you give too much, you’ll die! Let go of the tether now!”

Gellert watched as the boy let out a harsh gasp of air before he dropped to the ground. Gellert cursed, diving forward to grab him. “Damn boy, he’s out cold,” Gellert muttered. It seems like he gave too much magic to the Inferius and was now completely unconscious. On the bright side, the Inferius no longer looked like he was going feral. 

As Gellert looked over Harry, he could see new intelligence in the bright green eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Harry looked around, clearly confused, but took a small step forward when he saw the unconscious boy in Gellert’s arms. “Harry, right?” Gellert asked, holding out a hand to him. “Come on, boy, we need to get out of here before---”  
“FILTH!” 

“---she comes back,” Gellert sighed, looking to his left to see the woman standing in the door. “Hello again.” 

“How did you get free? Who is that other boy?” she demanded before she shook her head. “No matter. Prepare to burn!”

“No---”

Gellert flinched back when the woman cast _fiendfyre_. It was clear that she was not expecting the spell to be so powerful, as she was thrown back herself. The flame burst out of her wand with a hungry desire to destroy, and Gellert barely had enough time to grab the Inferius in his hands and fall to the floor to avoid the flame. 

The fire shot over his head, surrounding the cell in dangerous flames. Gellert coughed as the smoke grew thick, and with all his strength, searched deep inside his core for enough magical power to apparate the three of them out of the cell. 

The last thing he heard before the apparated away was the woman's crazed screeching as her own spell burned her alive. 

“After I apparated away,” Gellert continued, watching as the Dark Lord placed the Inferius on the medical cot, a possessive grip on his hand. “I realized that most of the baby’s clothes burned away. I transfigured a blanket out of that Draco kid’s extra robe and apparated to Hogsmeade. From there, Draco gave me directions to your castle.” 

“I am indebted to you,” Voldemort said softly, his gaze not leaving his son’s peaceful expression. “You saved my son. You didn’t have to do that, and for that I am grateful.” 

“All I ask in return is immunity,” Gellert said. “I want to leave the country. Go somewhere new.” 

Voldemort hummed. “Do you swear to never attack England?”

“I do.” 

“Then you are free to leave,” Voldemort said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I never want you to set foot in England again, do you understand.” 

“I do,” Gellert nodded. “Best of luck to you and your kid.” With one final nod, Gellert apparated away, leaving Voldemort alone with two unconscious children and death.

“How did Draco show up there?” Voldemort wondered aloud. 

“ **I might have a few theories** ,” Death mumbled, leaning forward to wrap an arm around Voldemort’s shoulder. “ **But I think they can wait. Let’s just take a moment to breathe**.” 

“He’s alive,” Voldemort whispered again, tenderly brushing Little One’s hair. “He’s alive.” 

“ **Everything is okay now**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH! You guys, there's only the epilogue left! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I thank each and every one of you for sticking around so long! Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! <3
> 
> **FanFiction Rec:** He Lied written by Dr_I_Know_All  
> Y'all, this might be my favorite Dad For One fic ever, okay. DFO is super possessive and honestly not the best parent but he's also not th worst? He's doing his best, okay?? Izuku really wants to be a hero though, and DFO is not happy about that? Just, seriously, go read it, you won't be disappointed.  
> \----------------  
> Larry: *waddles into the med wing*  
> Larry: *burrows into Little One's hair*  
> Voldemort: Truce officially over. Go away

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [HP Fic Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475259) by [Coral_Mountain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coral_Mountain/pseuds/Coral_Mountain)




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